For them, rain and wind and darkness, for me such comfort as the inn afforded, but of the three it was I who was desolate and forlorn.
CHAPTER IX
DESCRIBES THE WOES OF GALLOPING JERRY, A NOTORIOUS HIGHWAYMAN
"An' now—wot about my door?" demanded a gruff voice. Starting, I turned to find the landlord at my elbow and immediately my forlornness grew intensified. I felt miserably helpless and at a loss, for the man's sullen face seemed to hold positive menace and I yearned mightily for Anthony's masterful presence beside me or a little of his polite ferocity.
"Come—wot about my door?" demanded the landlord, more threatening than ever. "Ten shillin' won't mend my door—"
"What door?" I questioned, fronting his insolent look with as much resolution as I could summon.
"The door as you an' that desp'rit villain broke betwixt ye—fifteen shillin'—ah, a pound won't pay for the mendin' o' my door—wot about it—come!" Here he lurched towards me, shoulders hunched, chin brutally out-thrust so that I shrank instinctively from him, perceiving which, he grew the more aggressive.
"That will do!" said I in woefully feeble imitation of Anthony's masterful manner. "That will do—and what is more—"
"Oh, will it do? Wot about my door?"
"You may charge it in your bill—"