He lit his pipe, and, plunging into his story, finished it without interruption.
“You are a deep one, Glover,” said his admiring friend when he had finished. “I thought you had been very smart lately—not but what you were always a dressy man,” he added thoughtfully.
“I believe in keeping my own things to myself,” said Glover.
“And this bargee has got the old un,” said Tillotson, using the terms Glover had employed in his narrative. “I don’t see what is to be done, Glover.”
“I want to get him away,” said the other. “If I can’t find him, nobody else shall, and I want you to help me.”
“Go down to Stourwich, tie him up in a sack, and drown him, I suppose,” said Tillotson, trying to live up to a reputation several lady friends had bestowed upon him of being sarcastic.
“Can you get away to-morrow?” demanded Glover impatiently.
“I am as free as the birds of the air,” responded Tillotson gloomily; “the only difference is, nobody puts out crumbs for me.”
“I can reckon on you, then,” said Glover. “I thought I could. We have known each other a long time, Tillotson. There is nothing like an old friend when one is in trouble.”
Mr. Tillotson assented modestly. “You won’t forget about Leatham and Roberts?” he said.