A pair of black trousers was thrown toward him by the oarsman and Dobbs drew them on over his prison garb.
"Now the coat."
He was turning his striped blouse inside out.
"Now, let's 'ear you in the chorus," said Dobbs, who immediately set up a sailor's song about Nancy Lee. Robert and the boatman swelled the chorus as desired, with rollicking "Heave ho's."
"Quit your caterwauling there!" cried the policeman above. The pseudo-sailors at once hushed as if much frightened and rowed swiftly under the bridge, while the policeman, satisfied with this display of obedience, stalked along on his lonely beat. Above the bridge the river narrowed and the banks were no longer of granite, but of arable loam scalloped into a thousand little inlets. An hour must have elapsed and three more bridges had been passed, when the boatman turned into one of these coves and drove his keel against a grating sand bank. The passengers jumped out and shook the cramp from their limbs.
"Is that all, Mr. M——"
A finger on Dobbs' lips checked the boatman's sentence half-way and a nod gave the answer to his uncompleted question. Robert was not paying attention, but when Dobbs touched his arm and led the way up to the road, he promptly followed. By this time the milkmen and marketmen were about. A rattle of distant wheels broke the silence now and then. The dawn-birds trebled their matin greeting and a pearly flush located the eastern quarter of the sky. After a few turns, Dobbs approached the side entrance of a large house, not unlike an inn. The waiter who answered his tap appeared to have been expecting him.
"'Ere we are, Bobbs, me boy. 'Ere we'll shift our duds and 'ave a talk over the breakfast victuals. Whew! Hi'm tired! Fetch a lamp, Johnnie, into the guest chamber. We haren't clemmin' on you, we've got rocks. Hey, Johnnie?"
The white-aproned waiter grinned and led them into a private room with a table in the middle.
"The porker, Johnnie, and plenty of good hold hale with the fixins."