“You would, though, if you could see yourself. You wonderful old Guy, where did you pick up that toggery?”
“The late lamented husband of the widow Higgs, our landlady, was the owner of the coat. He also bequeathed to her several pairs of breeches, which I have vainly endeavored to get into. The late lamented Higgs was an abominably small man. He must have been very much her worse half. So, in default of other clothing, the widow has kindly obliged me by the loan of one of her own garments.”
“Where are your own clothes?”
“There,” said East, pointing to a clothes' horse, which Tom had not hitherto remarked, which stood well into the chimney corner; “and they are dry, too,” he went on, feeling them; “at least the flannel shirt and trousers are, so I'll get into them again.”
“I say, ma'am,” he called out, addressing the screen, “I'm going to change my things. So you had better not look in just now. In fact, we can call now, if we want anything.”
At this strong hint the widow Higgs was heard bustling away behind the screen, and after her departure East got into some of his own clothes again, offering the cast-off garments of the Higgs family to Tom, who, however, declined, contenting himself with taking off his coat and waistcoat, and hanging them upon the horse. He had been blown comparatively dry in the last half-hour of his walk.
While East was making his toilet, Tom turned to the table, and made an assault on the bread and bacon, and then poured himself out a glass of beer and began to drink it, but was pulled up half way, and put it down with a face all drawn up into puckers by its sharpness.
“I thought you wouldn't appreciate the widow's tap,” said East, watching him with a grin. “Regular whistle-belly vengeance, and no mistake! Here, I don't mind giving you some of my compound, though you don't deserve it.”
So Tom drew his chair to the fire, and smacked his lips over the long-necked glass, which East handed to him.
“Ah! that's not bad tipple after such a ducking as we've had. Dog's-nose, isn't it?”