The mud seemed stickier than ever, but I got out at last, and, arter scraping some of it off with a bit o’ stick, I put on my coat and trousers and boots just as I was and went to the gate, with the bell going its ’ardest all the time.
When I opened the gate and see the landlord of the Bear’s Head standing there I turned quite dizzy, and there was a noise in my ears like the roaring of the sea. I should think I stood there for a couple o’ minutes without being able to say a word. I could think of ’em.
“Don’t be frightened, Bill,” ses the landlord. “I’m not going to eat you.”
“He looks as if he’s walking in ’is sleep,” ses the fat policeman, wot was standing near by. “Don’t startle ’im.”
“He always looks like that,” ses the landlord.
I stood looking at ’im. I could speak then, but I couldn’t think of any words good enough; not with a policeman standing by with a notebook in ’is pocket.
“Wot was you ringing my bell for?” I ses, at last.
“Why didn’t you answer it before?” ses the landlord. “D’you think I’ve got nothing better to do than to stand ringing your bell for three-quarters of an hour? Some people would report you.”
“I know my dooty,” I ses; “there’s no craft up to-night, and no reason for anybody to come to my bell. If I was to open the gate every time a parcel of overgrown boys rang my bell I should ’ave enough to do.”
“Well, I’ll overlook it this time, seeing as you’re an old man and couldn’t get another sleeping-in job,” he ses, looking at the policeman for him to see ’ow clever ’e was. “Wot about that tanner? That’s wot I’ve come for.”