At this point, the Captain, who had so far failed to make himself heard, intervened. Pushing the gate wider, he addressed himself to the farmer. “You be off, with your horned cattle!” he said. “I won’t charge you for the calf, though I daresay I’m wrong.”
“You are wrong!” asserted the spare man, dancing with fury. “My name is Willitoft, sir! Willitoft!”
“Well, don’t take on about it!” recommended Chirk, hitching the bridle of Coate’s horse to the gate post. “No one ain’t blaming you if it is!”
Rose, who had been gazing at him for the last few minutes as though she doubted the evidence of her eyes, exclaimed faintly: “It is you! Whatever are we coming to?” and sat down suddenly on the bench behind her.
“Willitoft!” repeated the spare man. “I represent the Trustees of the Derbyshire Tolls!”
“Oh, lord!” ejaculated the Captain ruefully. “Now the cat’s in the cream-pot!”
“Yes, fellow, it is! Indeed it is!” said Mr. Willitoft. “How dare you let these persons through the pike without payment? Two led horses as well! Three ruffians—ruffians, I say!—and———”
“Give them a couple of tickets, Bab!” said the Captain.
“You keep your tickets for them as may need ’em!” interposed Stogumber, who was still bestriding the landlord’s cob. “I’m employed on Government business, and I don’t pay tolls, not in any county!”
“I don’t believe you!” declared Mr. Willitoft, bristling with suspicion. “You’re a hardened scoundrel! I knew you for a rogue the instant I laid eyes on you!”