Betty Binns was lying in wait for him without. A subdued exultation was visible in her face.
"I war sure, Mr. Lummax," cried she—"I war sure ye didn't rightly know what war good for th' innards of a man o' God. Th' maister, yester-morn, war as yaller as hen-corn, an' his heäd warked fit to burst. That's what comes along o' strong meät when th' Sperrit hes hold on a man."
"Betty," said Griff, "you mustn't be hard on me. I meant it for the best."
"Ay, ay, them as is for meaning th' best is allus for doing th' worst!" And Betty was retiring in triumph, when the other called her back.
"Just tell your master, will you, that I shall be here at nine sharp to-morrow night, and shall expect him to be ready for a ride. You have no objection to offer, have you, Betty?" he added, with an air of humble deference.
"Get along wi' ye! There's no mak o' shame i' th' young fowk nowadays, no shame at all. It taks a likelier nor ye, Mr. Griff, to trail Betty Binns. Now, will ye let me shut th' door, or willun't ye?"
"Parting, Betty, is such sweet sorrow, that I——?" He found himself talking to the bare oak of the door, and laughed mightily, in his boy's way, as he swung down the garden-path and into the highroad.
Remembering, later in the evening, that his whisky had run out, he slipped across to the Bull to buy a bottle. A crowd of idlers was hanging about the steps, with Joe Strangeways conspicuous in their midst. Joe was in his usual condition of semi-drunkenness, and he scowled on seeing Lomax approach.
"That's him," muttered a companion; "tha wert talking big, Joe, about what tha'd do to him when tha cotched him. Now's thy chance." The tone was ironical, and did not suggest any great confidence in the quarryman's practical bravery.
Strangeways felt that he must make a demonstration of some kind, in view of a few recent utterances of his. He squared his shoulders so as to dispute possession of the doorway, thrust out his lower jaw, and regarded Griff with an air of sullen mockery.