"Who's talking o' fisteses?"
"I be. I reckons as a man past sixty might well stand up to a Proosian not more'n thirty."
"You ain't never thinking of enlisting, Habakkuk?"
"No, no. I couldn't leave 'ee, Jane."
"You takes keer o' yourself for my sake. I knows that. What be you thinking of?"
"You'll know soon enough, old girl. I minds that time when I bruised meself so bad slidin' off a slippery roof bang on to a stone wall. You rubbed in some wonnerful stuff. Any of it left?"
"Lard help us! I knew you'd miss your ale. You bain't never thinking o' drinking Helliman's Embrocation?"
"Not yet. Have you the bottle handy?"
Jane nodded; Uncle relapsed into silence, broken by rumblings and chucklings. He went to bed early and slept soundly.
Next afternoon, at four, he entered the sanded bar of Saint's tavern. Saint drove his 'bus to Salisbury upon alternate days. He had a man to take his place upon the other days when business kept him at home. Behind the bar stood a fresh-coloured young woman, quick of tongue and hand, floridly good-looking, with very alert eyes. Gossip affirmed that she was secretly engaged to Saint. Jane Mucklow remarked that the hussy ought to be, if she wasn't. Uncle greeted her pleasantly, nodded to those present, called for a tankard of ale, and enquired tenderly after Saint Willum. The young woman frowned. Then she said sharply: