"An' I see tha' too, 'Zekiel Podmore; I know who broke the handle o' town
pump. If I cotch ya at your tricks I'll leather ya fust an' clap ya in
the stocks afterwards, sure as my name be Randle Malkin.

"But as I wan sayin', if ya foller th' example o' General Clive, an' turn
yer young sperits into the lawful way--why, mebbe there be gowd swords
an' mints o' money somewheers fur ya too.

"Well now, I bin talkin' long enough, an' to tell ya the truth, I be dry
as a whistle, so I'll axe ya all to lift yer glasses, neebors, an' drink
the good health o' General Clive. So theer!"

As the worthy bailiff concluded his speech, the company primed their
glasses, rose and drank the toast with enthusiasm. Lusty cheers broke
from the drier throats outside; caps were waved, rattles whirled, kettles
beaten with a vigor that could not have been exceeded if the general
loyalty had been stirred by the presence of King George himself.

Only one man in the crowd held his peace. The stranger remained opposite
the window, silent, motionless, looking now into the room, now round upon
the throng, with the same smile of whimsical amusement. Only once did his
manner change; the smile faded, his lips met in a straight line, and he
made a slight rearward movement, seeming at the same moment to lose
something of his height.

It was when the guest of the evening stood up to reply: a young man,
looking somewhat older than his twenty-nine years, his powdered hair
crowning a strong face; with keen, deep-set eyes, full lips and masterful
chin. He wore a belaced purple coat; a crimson sash crossed his