"Ah!" said the schoolmaster; "much better, mayhap; changes are oft for the best." A roar of laughter from the table attracted his attention. "Come, we are missing all the gayety," he said. And slipping his arm through William's, he strolled up and joined the group, who were listening to a red-faced adjutant relating a story of being lost in an Irish bog.
When William looked around a moment or so later the schoolmaster had disappeared.
He had slipped away unnoticed, and his nimble feet were flying up the road. He swung about the corner into Vine Street. The sentry at the door of the prison was fast asleep, his heavy head resting on his folded arms. The schoolmaster ducked adroitly underneath him and opened the door; he crossed the court-yard to the prison entrance, and pulled the bell. There was a stirring within, and the jailer stood there unsteadily, half asleep, with a blanket thrown about his shoulders.
"What want you now?" he asked.
"The prisoner on the second floor," said Schoolmaster Anderson. "His Lordship would have him examined. Know you whether he has a birth-mark on his cheek?"
"I don't know or care," answered the jailer.
"'Tis to decide a wager," said the little man, clicking his heels together, "and if he has not one, half of it is for yourself. You remember the inspection the other day?"
"Ay," said the jailer. "Is the bet for a large amount?"
"Wait until you hear," laughed the schoolmaster. "I saw it plainly. Come, let us up, I say."
But now the jailer took a sudden turn. "I would not have him disturbed. I have a kindly feeling for the lad."