"Thank 'ee kindly, Joey, and mind this—now as ever I'm your man if you should want anyone——" here the fellow made an ugly motion with his thumb, nodded, winked, and crossing to the door, took himself off.
Sergeant Zebedee was about to follow when he checked himself and clenched his fists again.
"Begins with a A and ends with another A?" cried one of the company. "Question remains—who, Joey, who? Speak up, Joseph."
The sedate Joseph had crossed to his companions and now stood glancing sedately round the merry circle.
"Well, since you ask," he answered, "who should it be but Mistress Agatha—pretty Mrs. Agatha at the Manor House."
The Sergeant's nostrils widened suddenly and his grim jaws closed with a snap.
"Such a shape!" repeated the languid William. "Such a waist! Such dem'd, see-doocing, roguish eyes, begad!"
"Ah, and she knows it too!" piped Horace, "not a civil word for e'er a one on us, let alone a kiss or a sly squeeze! And why——?"
"Because," drawled Joseph, shaking sleek head, "because—since you ask me, I answer you as she is meat for her betters—her master, belike—the Major with the game leg—Squire d'Arcy of the Manor."
The Sergeant glanced into his tankard, found therein a few frothy drops, spilled them carefully upon the floor and hurled the empty vessel at the last speaker. Fortunately for himself the discreet Joseph moved at that moment and the heavy missile, hurtling past his ear, caught the long-nosed Horace in the waistcoat and floored him. Whirling about, Joseph was amazed to see the Sergeant advancing swiftly and with evident intent, and the next moment all was riot and uproar. Over crashed the table, chairs and their occupants were scattered right and left and there rose a cloud of dust that grew ever thicker wherein two forms, fiercely-grappled, writhed and smote and twisted.