“What are you for to-night, Thomas?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Johnson, moodily; “I’m better with nothing, I think.”
“No, no,” said the other; “you’re none of that sort. You look very down; a pint of ale’ll be just the very thing to set you right.”
Johnson took the ale.
“Didn’t I see you coming out of Ned Brierley’s?” asked one of the drinkers.
“Well, and what then?” asked Johnson, fiercely.
“Oh, nothing; only I thought, maybe, that you were for coming out in the teetottal line. Ay, wouldn’t that be a rare game?”
A roar of laughter followed this speech. But Johnson’s blood was up.
“And why shouldn’t I join the teetottallers if I’ve a mind?” he cried. “I don’t see what good the drink’s done to me nor mine. And as for Ned Brierley, he’s a gradely Christian. I’ve given him nothing afore but foul words; but I’ll give him no more.”
A fresh burst of merriment followed these words.