Cleek looked at Dollops, and both realized the importance of getting back to the Towers before the arrival of Borkins, in case that worthy should think (as was far from unlikely) of spying on their movements, and checking up on Cleek's progress in letter writing. It was going to require some quick work.
"Well, Sammy, better be movin' back to our shelterin' roof an' all the comforts of 'ome," began Cleek almost at once, and gulping down the last of his fourth tankard and slouching over to the doorway. A chorus of voices stopped him.
"Where you sleepin'?"
"Under the 'aystack about 'arf a mile from 'ere," replied Cleek glibly and at a venture.
The barmaid's brows knitted into a frown.
"'Aystack?" she repeated. "There ain't no 'aystack along this road from 'ere to Fetchworth. Bit orf the track, ain't yer?"
Cleek retrieved himself at once.
"Ain't there? Well, wot if there ain't? The place wot I calls a 'aystack—an' wot Lunnoners calls a 'aystack too—is the nearest bit of shelter wot comes your way. Manner of speakin', that's all."
"Oh! Then I reckon you means the barn about a quarter of a mile up the road toward the village?" The barmaid smiled again.
"That's it. Good-night."