"I hope he's not gone the wrong road and tumbled into the river," said Solomon Gibbs.
"I'll tell you what he will do," said Fox. "He will let us sit expecting his return all night, and he will quietly take himself off to Hall, and laugh at us for our folly to-morrow."
"Not he," said the innkeeper; "that's not the way with Master Cleverdon. You might have done that, and we should not ha' been surprised."
"I would have done it, most assuredly. If Tony does not, then he is more of a fool than I took him. He loves a bit of brag as much as another, and with brag he went forth."
"There is no brag in him," said Taverner, the ballad-singer. "Every one knows what Anthony Cleverdon is; if he says he will do a thing, he will do it. If we wait long enough, he will return from the churchyard."
"Or say he has been there."
"If he says it, we will believe him—all but you, Mr. Crymes, who believe in nobody and nothing."
"Now, we have had threats of quarrel already more than once; I must stop this," said Solomon Gibbs. "Storm outside is sufficient. Let us have calm within over the sea of punch."
"Oh!" said Fox, contemptuously, "I don't quarrel with old Taverner; no man draws save against his equal."
"Punch! more punch!" shouted Gibbs. "Landlord, we are come to the gravel. And, Taverner! give us a song, but not one so dismal as 'My Lady's Coach.' That set us about speaking of St. Mark's Eve, and sent Cleverdon on this crazy adventure."