A hand touching his arm, and a deep voice in his ear, broke the fairy spell which Queen Mab had been busy to weave around him.
Guy Barton knew better than most how to measure his punch—and his man.
"You are no songster then, my hero of the road?" quoth he in kindly tones. "Well, well, so much the better. I confess I don't care for all their tunes in there. Besides, I wanted a chat with Sir Henry's grandson."
"Sir Henry? You knew my grandfather?"
The very suggestion was passport already to the younger man's favour.
"Why, yes! An old friend of mine and a dear one to boot. You'd not heard him talk of Guy Barton?"
"Of a truth I'm recalling the name. There was some tale of a main of cocks——"
"Ha, ha! the old story. Yes, the hero of the cock-pit. Though I'll not be vaunting before the man who handled the ribbons through Craven's Hollow. You did me good service then, Mr. Berrington."
"'Twas nothing. Yet I'm glad to have served my grandfather's friend."
"Your own too, boy, if you'll have it. I see your father's back at Berrington."