"Ay, 'tis so."
"And a late hour to find the Berkeley Arms open."
"Ay, 'tis latish, sure enough."
"Any news from the army in Flanders? A post from London, eh?"
"Nay, not 'zackly that."
"Odzooks! speak up, men," cried the captain impatiently. "Why are they all mumble-chopped to-night, mistress?" he asked, turning to the hostess, who had followed him with bread and cheese and beer.
"Ah, they be pondering strange things," returned Mrs. Joplady. "Tell the cap'n all the long story, William Nokes."
The constable, fingering the hat in his hand, looked for sympathy into the stolid faces of his fellows, cleared his throat, and began:
"Cap'n, your sarvant. Eight o'clock this mornin', or mebbe nine—'twixt eight and nine, if the truth was told—comes Long Tom from the Grange, Sir Godfrey's man, as ye med know, Cap'n. Says he to me, 'Constable,' says he, 'Sir Godfrey commands 'ee as a justice o' the peace to bring your staff and irons and other engines,' says he, 'up along to Grange, wi'out remorse or delay, and arrest a prisoner in the Queen's name.' You may think what a turn it gi' me, souls, so early in the mornin'. 'Be he voilent?' says I. 'Can I arrest the villain all alone by myself?' 'Ay sure,' says he; 'there's no knowin' what a tough job 'twould be an he were sound and hearty, but he's dazed, so he be, wi' a crack in the nob, and won't give no trouble to no mortal constable, not a bit,' says he. 'A crack in the nob,' says he; didn't he, souls?"
A murmur of assent came from the group.