“Upside ... down!” he murmured. “Oh! Ah! Fall in your men!” Having said which, the Captain walked slowly out of the inn, looking neither right nor left.
And presently the Sergeant’s voice was heard uplifted in divers inarticulate roarings; followed a ring and clatter of muskets and, with martial swing and measured tramp, Captain Panter and his dusty company marched away through the mellowing afternoon sunshine.
And, after some while, appeared Mr. Muddle’s head at the open lattice.
“Arl clear, Peter!” he announced, whereupon Mr. Bunkle nodded and emitted a cheery whistle, which was immediately answered by those ghostly rappings, such as Sir John remembered to have heard once before.
“Aweel, that’s over, God be thankit!” quoth Sir Hector fervently.
“Aye, sir!” nodded Mr. Bunkle. “’Twere a bit orkard-like for Jarge, but then every summer ’as its rainy day!”
The rattle of a chain, a scuffling sound in the chimney, and Mr. Potter stepped forth in more woeful plight than ever by reason of soot.
“Havers, Geordie man, an’ how are ye the noo?” inquired Sir Hector. “Are ye wounded?”
“A bit, sir—’ere an’ theer,” admitted Mr. Potter, “by reason of a quick-set as happed in my road. But gimme a glass o’ grog, chilled, Peter, an’ soap an’ water, an’ I’ll be never naun the worse, I rackon.” And, making a leg, he limped away on Mr. Bunkle’s ready arm.
“A memorable afternoon, Hector!” quoth Sir John. “In Sussex one truly lives these days! Paris? London? What be these to Alfriston? And now, come your ways.”