"I believe you!" he laughed. "And now I'm more than inclined for a pot, a tankard, a flagon, Perry—or say a dozen. Damme, I've been breathing nothing but circumambient Kent for the last half-hour—Ale, Perry, ale's the word! This way! And by that same token, here's your money. 'T is a glorious beast, your Wildfire, and curst well ridden, begad!"
"And I ride stones lighter than you do, Goliath!" said I, following him into the sanded parlour.
"I never drink a tankard of ale," gasped Anthony, setting down his vessel with a bang, "no, never, Perry, without remembering the first drink we had together—the ale you paid for! And the ham and eggs—oh, curse and confound it, I shall never taste anything so delicious again, of course. Everything is vastly changed since then, Peregrine—everything except yourself."
"I am two inches taller!" said I.
"Ah, to be sure! And, thanks to Jessamy Todd, a man of your hands.
What's become of Jessamy these days—and your friend the Tinker?"
"I shame to say I don't know. I used to see them frequently up to a year ago, but since then, London and its follies have engulfed me."
"We'll devote ourselves to looking 'em up one o' these days!" said Anthony. "Meantime I'm devilish hungry and I always dine at 'The Bull' at Wrotham, so if you're quite ready, let's push on. By the way," he continued, as I followed him into the yard, "did you notice that chaise we passed just beyond Farningham—a black-bodied chaise, picked out in yellow, with red wheels?"
"I did, Anthony—why?"
"Fool of a fellow seemed infernally agitated, actually had a pistol ready for me, or so it seemed."
"I noticed his desperate attitude also,—and thought it very singular."