“Hang it, don't let's run,” said Drysdale.
“Is it the proctors?” said Tom. “I can't see them.”
“Mark the bloody-faced one; kick him over,” sang out a voice in the crowd.
“Thank'ee,” said Tom, savagely. “Let's have one rush at them.”
“Look! there's the proctor's cap just through them; come along boys—well, stay if you like, and be rusticated, I'm off,” and away went Jervis, and the next moment Tom and Drysdale followed the good example, and, as they had to run, made the best use of their legs, and in two minutes were well ahead of their pursuers. They turned a corner; “Here, Brown! alight in this public, cut in, and it's all right.” Next moment they were in the dark passage of a quiet little inn, and heard with a chuckle part of the crowd scurry by the door in pursuit, while they themselves suddenly appeared in the neat little bar, to the no small astonishment of its occupants. These were a stout elderly woman in spectacles, who was stitching away at plain work in an arm-chair on one side of the fire; the foreman of one of the great boat-builders, who sat opposite her, smoking his pipe with a long glass of clear ale at his elbow; and a bright-eyed, neat handed bar maid, who was leaning against the table, and talking to the others as they entered.
CHAPTER XII—THE CAPTAIN'S NOTIONS
The old lady dropped her work, the barmaid turned round with a start and little ejaculation, and the foreman stared with all his eyes for a moment, and then, jumping up, exclaimed—
“Bless us, if it isn't Muster Drysdale and Muster Brown, of Ambrose's. Why what's the matter, sir? Muster Brown, you be all covered wi' blood, sir.”
“Oh dear me! poor young gentlemen!” cried the hostess;—“Here, Patty, run and tell Dick to go for the doctor, and get the best room—”