"Shall I fill your glass, sir?" inquired the waiter, as the landlord departed.
Mr. Bascombe nodded.
"You needn't stop here, Percy," he remarked when the operation was completed. "I can get through this little lot on my own."
"Very well, sir," said the waiter. "There's a bell on the mantelpiece, sir, if you want me."
He withdrew to the kitchen, pondering darkly on the unconventional habits of the Roman Catholic clergy.
Unembarrassed by company, Mr. Bascombe gave himself up without reserve to the enjoyment of his meal. Having finished the steak and mopped up the gravy with a bit of bread, he reluctantly pushed back his plate and turned his attention to the tart. Two generous helpings of this luxury sufficed him, his repast concluding with a slab of bread-and-cheese that must effectually have filled up any spare corners remaining.
While he ate he kept an amused eye on the window, noting the various symptoms of unrest which were still apparent in the street. It seemed as though most of the able-bodied men in Princetown were joining in the search. Armed with sticks or pitchforks, they came hurrying past one after another to offer their services. In every case Mr. Bascombe gravely drank the health of the new arrival.
Finally, when the Burgundy was finished, he got up a little unsteadily from the table and rang the bell. It was answered by the waiter.
Mr. Bascombe looked at him affectionately.
"'Ullo, Percy!" he remarked; "back again, eh?"