He rocked an empty beer-bottle and patted another that was half full. Satiety was written on his face as he pushed an empty plate from him, and, leaning back in his chair, smiled lazily at Mr. Mott.
“Go on,” said that gentleman, hoarsely. Mr. Hurst shook his head.
“Enough is as good as a feast,” he said, reasonably. “I’ll have some more to-morrow.”
“Oh, will you?” said the other. “Will you?”
Mr. Hurst nodded, and, opening his coat, disclosed a bottle of beer in each breast-pocket. The other pockets, it appeared, contained food.
“And here’s the money for it,” he said, putting down some silver on the table. “I am determined, but honest.”
With a sweep of his hand, Mr. Mott sent the money flying.
“To-morrow morning I send for the police. Mind that!” he roared.
“I’d better have my breakfast early, then,” said Mr. Hurst, tapping his pockets. “Good night. And thank you for your advice.”
He sat for some time after the disappearance of his host, and then, returning to the front room, placed a chair at the end of the sofa and, with the tablecloth for a quilt, managed to secure a few hours’ troubled sleep. At eight o’clock he washed at the scullery sink, and at ten o’clock Mr. Mott, with an air of great determination, came in to deliver his ultimatum.