"Wal, naow," said Bement, imperturbably, "perhaps ye know better'n I
dew."
"But, landlord, he's my friend, my comrade, I'd like to see him," and
the young man's countenance expressed the liveliest concern.
The landlord seemed to hesitate. Finally he turned his head and
called, "Marthy", and a plump, kitten-like little woman appeared at a
door, opening into the end of the bar, whereupon, the landlord, as he
jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate their guest, remarked:
"He wants ter know if 'ee kin be let ter see George Fennell. Says he's
his fren, an uster know him to the war."
Mrs. Bement looked at the officer and said, "Wal, my husbun don'
genally keer to hev folks a seein the pris'ners, coz it makes em
kinder discontented like." She hesitated a little and then added, "But
I dunno's 'twill dew no harm Cephas, bein as Fennell won' las' much
longer anyhow."
Thus authorized, Bement took a bundle of keys from a hook behind the
bar, and proceeded to unlock the padlock which fastened an iron bar
across a heavy plank door, in the middle of one of the sides of the
room. As he threw open the door, a gust of foul stenches belched forth
into the room, almost nauseating Perez.
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