"Till the last. But I've come out of this well." He chuckled. "To think what a fool blood makes of a man! Squire winna touch me, 'cause of you. But it must gall him; ay, it must gall him."
"I--list!" said Diggle suddenly. "There are footsteps again. Is it Burke coming back? The door's open, Job."
The innkeeper went to the door and peered into the dark. A slight figure came up at that moment--a boy, with a bundle in his hand.
"Is that you, Grinsell? Is Mr. Diggle in?"
"Come in, my friend," said Diggle, hastening to the door. "We were just talking of you. Come in; 'tis a late hour; si vespertinus subito--you remember old Horace? True, we haven't a hen to baste with Falernian for you, but sure friend Job can find a wedge of Cheshire and a mug of ale. Come in."
And Desmond went into the inn.
[Chapter 6]: In which the reader becomes acquainted with William Bulger and other sailor men; and our hero as a squire of dames acquits himself with credit.
One warm October afternoon, some ten days after the night of his visit to the Four Alls, Desmond was walking along the tow path of the Thames, somewhat north of Kingston. As he came to the spot where the river bends round towards Teddington, he met a man plodding along with a rope over his shoulder, hauling a laden hoy.
"Can you tell me the way to the Waterman's Rest?" asked Desmond.
"Ay, that can I," replied the man without stopping. "'Tis about a quarter mile behind me, right on waterside. And the best beer this side o' Greenwich."