"I have a stick too."
"And matches?"
"Yes, I have matches also."
"That's good."
I didn't see anything at all good in this, for, according to my view of the matter, it would only have been good if I had had bread and tobacco and not merely matches.
"I suppose they wouldn't let you have a night's lodging in the village?" inquired the invisible voice.
"No, they wouldn't," I said.
"Me also they would not admit."
This was clear—if only he had asked for a night's lodging. But he might not have asked, he might simply have crept in here to await a favourable opportunity for executing some sort of risky operation absolutely desiderating the protection of the night. Every sort of labour is praiseworthy, I know, but for all that I resolved to clutch my stick firmly.
"They wouldn't let me in, the Devils!" resumed the voice. "Blockheads! In fine weather they let you in, while in weather like this ... may they howl for it!"