"Yes, Mainer's right. You're the man
for us.... Good-night, all. Time's up. I'm off."
"Good-night," chorused a score of voices, while the fat barmaid blew a
kiss off the tips of her stubby fingers, and called out after him: "Come
again soon, dearie."
Cleek looked at Dollops, and both realized the importance of getting back
to the Towers before the arrival of Borkins, in case that worthy should
think (as was far from unlikely) of spying on their movements, and
checking up on Cleek's progress in letter writing. It was going to
require some quick work.
"Well, Sammy, better be movin' back to our shelterin' roof an' all the
comforts of 'ome," began Cleek almost at once, and gulping down the last
of his fourth tankard and slouching over to the doorway. A chorus of
voices stopped him.
"Where you sleepin'?"
"Under the 'aystack about 'arf a mile from 'ere," replied Cleek glibly
and at a venture.
The barmaid's brows knitted into a frown.
"'Aystack?" she repeated. "There ain't no 'aystack along this road from
'ere to Fetchworth.
Pages:
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216