“Here, let’s bilk them,” said he.
And we turned back and took our way down hill again.
It was none too soon: voices and alarm bells sounded; watchmen here and there began to spring their rattles; it was plain the University of Cramond would soon be at blows with the police of Edinburgh! Byfield and I, running the semi-inanimate Rowley before us, made good despatch, and did not stop till we were several streets away, and the hubbub was already softened by distance.
“Well, sir,” said he, “we are well out of that! Did ever any one see such a pack of young barbarians?”
“We are properly punished, Mr. Byfield; we had no business there,” I replied.
“No, indeed, sir, you may well say that! Outrageous! And my ascension announced for Friday, you know!” cried the aëronaut. “A pretty scandal! Byfield the aëronaut at the police-court! Tut-tut! Will you be able to get your rascal home, sir? Allow me to offer you my card. I am staying at Walker and Poole’s Hotel, sir, where I should be pleased to see you.”
“The pleasure would be mutual, sir,” said I, but I must say my heart was not in my words, and as I watched Mr. Byfield departing I desired nothing less than to pursue the acquaintance.
One more ordeal remained for me to pass. I carried my senseless load upstairs to our lodging, and was admitted by the landlady in a tall white nightcap and with an expression singularly grim. She lighted us into the sitting-room; where, when I had seated Rowley in a chair, she dropped me a cast-iron curtsy. I smelt gunpowder on the woman. Her voice tottered with emotion.
“I give ye nottice, Mr. Ducie,” said she. “Dacent folks’ houses....”
And at that apparently temper cut off her utterance, and she took herself off without more words.