At length it occurred to him that very likely the watchmen knew each other, and that if he were to inquire of one of them he might get some idea of Joe's whereabouts. With Benny to think was to act very frequently; so he walked up to an old man who was keeping watch in the street in which he then found himself, and put the question at once.
"Do you know an old man by the name of Joe Wrag?"
"Oh, ay, very well."
"Then perhaps you could tell me where I might find him."
"In course I could. If you keep down Old Hall Street for haaf a mile, you'll tumble over him, unless yer mind where yer goin'."
"Much obliged." And off Benny started with a very much lighter heart than he had five minutes before. It was a warm July evening, and Benny espied the old man long before he got to him, sitting on a block of wood outside his hut, apparently buried in thought.
For a moment or two Benny stood before him without speaking, and Joe seemed utterly unconscious of his presence. Six years seemed to have passed very lightly over the old man's head. Benny could detect no change in his features; he did not look a day older than he did the last time he saw him.
At length Benny said, in a hesitating tone of voice, "Good evening, Mr. Wrag."
Joe started, but scarcely lifted his eyes to the intruder; then answered, after a pause,
"I'm none so much mister, as I knows on; I'm only plain Joe Wrag."