He had not long to wait. In a minute or two the wicket gate creaked, and an unhurried footstep sounded. Heavy cloud again hid the moon, but there was light enough to see, when the footsteps drew abreast of John, that the figure which passed was that of a stocky man of medium height.
“Waiting for me?”
These pleasantly spoken words made the stocky man stop, and wheel about, grasping the thick stick he carried. Before he had time to raise it (if such had been his intention), he found himself enveloped in an unloving embrace from which it was quite impossible to escape. He seemed to realize this, for he stood perfectly still, merely saying in a mildly expostulatory tone: “Lor’ bless you, big ’un, you don’t have to squeeze the puff out of me!”
“It’s you, is it?” said John, removing the stick from his grasp, and casting it aside. “I thought it might be! Let me tell you, Mr. Stogumber, that it is unwise to smoke your pipe when lying in ambush!”
“So that’s how you boned me!” said Mr. Stogumber, apparently pleased to have this point explained. “A very leery cove, ain’t you?”
“No, but I don’t care to be spied upon!” said John.
“Spied upon! What, me?” said Stogumber, in astonished accents. “Seems to me as it’s you as laid in wait for me, Mr. Staple! I wasn’t meaning no harm! I didn’t jump out on you sudden enough to give anyone a spasm! All I done was to come out to stretch my legs. What’s put you in such a pelt?”
“Were you stretching your legs in the ditch?” asked the Captain sardonically.
“I won’t try to slumguzzle you, big ’un,” responded Stogumber. “I wasn’t. But this being a very lonely road, d’ye see, and me a peaceable man, I didn’t want to run into no trouble. How was I to know you wasn’t a bridle-cull?”
“You knew well enough who I was when you heard me speak to my horse! Why didn’t you show yourself then?”