“What time is this thing going to be over to-night, Joe?” had questioned the Squire, who was drinking port wine with some more old gentlemen at one end of the table, as we rose to depart.
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Tod. “About ten o’clock, I dare say.”
“Well, mind you come straight home, you two. I won’t have you getting into mischief. Do you hear, Johnny?”
“What mischief do you suppose, sir, we are likely to get into?” fired Tod.
“I don’t know,” answered the Squire. “When I was a young lad—younger than you—staying here for the races with my father—but we stayed at the Hop-pole, next door, which was the first inn then—I remember we were so wicked one night as to go about ringing and knocking at all the doors——”
“You and your father, sir?” asked Tod, innocently.
“My father! no!” roared the Squire. “What do you mean, Joe? How dare you! My father go about the town knocking at doors and ringing at bells! How dare you suggest such an idea! We left my father, sir, at the hotel with his friends at their wine, as you are leaving me with my friends here now. It was I and half-a-dozen other young rascals who did it—more shame for us. I can’t be sure how many bell-wires we broke. The world has grown wiser since then, though I don’t think it’s better; and—and mind you walk quietly home. Don’t get into a fight, or quarrel, or anything of that kind. The streets are sure to be full of rough people and pickpockets.”
Harry Parker was waiting for us in the hotel gateway. He said he feared we should be late, and thought we must have been eating dinner for a week by the time we took over it.
“I’m not coming with you, Tod,” I said; “I’ll join you presently.”
Tod turned round and faced me. “What on earth’s that for, Johnny?”