Overhead not a star was to be seen, and save an occasional drunkard
staggering home, the two men were alone on the road.

A short distance beyond the distillery the cooper-shop squatted beside
the street, and the dim flicker of a candle cast its pitiful light
through the dirt-encrusted window.

As Moriarity and Cummings stepped from the shadow of the distillery, an
indistinct form stole behind them, and keeping just within sight,
followed the two men as they wended their lonely way to Cook's shop.

Disdaining all attempts at concealment, Cummings rapped loudly on the
door.

The sound of clinking glasses was heard, and a voice, heavy and thick,
growled out, "Come in."

A vigorous shove opened the door, and Cummings was about to step inside,
but at the sight of another man, a ragged tramp, drinking with Cook, he
stopped short.

"Come in, b'hoy, come in; d-d-don't keep the d-d-door open; come right
in," stuttered Cook, too drunk to speak intelligibly.

The tramp, elevating his glass above his head, with an inviting gesture,
shouted the words of the old drinking song:

"Drink, puppy, drink, let every puppy drink
That's old enough to stand and to swallow.
For we'll pass the bottle round, when we've become a hound,