“Time will show——”
“Aye, but meanwhile, John, d’ye mean to say ye think——”
“That a mug of Mr. Bunkle’s gumboo will go very happily with Mistress Pym’s excellent wine, so——”
“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Sir Hector; and together they entered the hospitable portal of the ‘Market Cross Inn,’ where they were met by the cheery Mr. Bunkle, who ushered them as honoured guests into his five-doored holy of holies.
“Do you gin’men ’appen to ha’ seed the bill as they’ve printed an’ posted arl-on-account-o’ pore Jarge Potter? What—no, sirs? Then bide a minute an’ I’ll show ye one o’ they bills.” Saying which, Mr. Bunkle put aside snowy apron and from vasty pocket drew forth such incongruous articles as: a whip lash, a fragment of tobacco, a nutmeg, a small pistol, and finally, after laborious groping, a folded paper which, having carefully smoothed out, he held up against the wall and they read as follows:
One Hundred Pounds Reward.
Dead or Alive.
Whereas George Potter a Notorious Smuggler did upon the 10th inst. of June fire upon certain of His Majesty’s soldiers and coastguard officers in the execution of their duty, thereby Maliciously Wounding divers of them: the above sum, to wit One Hundred Pounds, will be paid to any or such persons as shall give information leading to capture of the aforesaid
Notorious Malefactor.
Dead or Alive.
Long Live the King.