"I've a longish journey before me."
The watchman.
"Cambridge?" asked the old fellow.
"Nay. Farther by many a mile," answered the other, vaulting into the saddle.
"The powers alive! You don't say so! Well, you seem in mighty good trim for the task anyhow! 'Tis many a month,—years not to say—since I've noticed ye so springy-like about the knees, Master Alworth."
"H'm," said the traveller, passing his hand across the lower half of his face and then down his thighs. "But I must mind, or I shall be paying for my agility."
"Ay, ay. It don't do to be making too free when us is gettin' well on in our threescore, do it? But happen 'tis some good stroke o' business as is greasin' the wheels for ye," slyly laughed the old fellow. "Coin's a rare mender of a man's paces. 'Tis money—"
"Makes the mare to go," laughed the horseman. "Try the recipe yourself, friend," and he threw a crown-piece upon the ground.
Not without a half-suppressed exclamation of surprise at the goldsmith's unwonted liberality, albeit Master Alworth was no skinflint, the old man picked up the coin, and contemplated it with affectionate admiration. "I never see likenesses of old Rowley ever pleases me so well as these do," he said. "Eh, Master Alworth?"
"They're well enough," said the horseman, with a preoccupied shrug, as he stooped to adjust his stirrup.