"No," said the other, with great calm. "I am man enough to have a better
reason."

"No psalm singing," said Gunn, coarsely. "And look cheerful, you old
buccaneer. Look as a man should look who has just met an old friend
never to lose him again."

He eyed his man expectantly and put his hand to his pocket again, but the
innkeeper's face was troubled, and he gazed stolidly at the fire.

"See what fifteen years' honest, decent life does for us," grinned the
intruder.

The other made no reply, but rising slowly, walked to the door without a
word.

"Landlord," cried Gunn, bringing his maimed hand sharply down on the
table.

The innkeeper turned and regarded him.

"Send me in some supper," said Gunn; "the best you have, and plenty of
it, and have a room prepared. The best."

The door closed silently, and was opened a little later by the dubious
George coming in to set a bountiful repast. Gunn, after cursing him for
his slowness and awkwardness, drew his chair to the table and made the
meal of one seldom able to satisfy his hunger. He finished at last, and
after sitting for some time smoking, with his legs sprawled on the
fender, rang for a candle and demanded to be shown to his room.