“Stevens an’ Griffiths an’ Prosser an’ William Pritchard an’ old Job Hondy. There’s only a few more because of the drinking up at Price’s.”
Price was the carpenter, and his house was the usual meeting-place of the Pig-driver’s set.
“I’m going up there myself,” continued the man. “The jug’s getting pretty nigh empty here, an’ I don’t see my way to giving ’em no more. I’ll start fair over there, ye see.”
“Then it’s you that’s payin’ for their treat?”
“Yes, yes, ’tis my party. There’s just enough left i’ the jug to keep them quiet till I’ve had my turn over at Price’s afore they all be after me. I’ll be gone then, afore they do come.”
“But you don’t own this house,” said Bumpett, rather mystified; “I’ve never seen you before.”
“An’ you don’t see me now,” rejoined the other, with an airy glance into the darkness, “nor they won’t see me neither after I’ve had my drink.”
“Well, you have a right notion o’ things—I can see that, anyhow,” said the Pig-driver, beginning to like his acquaintance. “I’ll step down wi’ you to Price’s.”
“Best not,” said his companion dubiously.