an action again him, for putting in no malt."

"I would not have had this get about for any money!" resumed Jenkins.
"Neither you nor father shall ever catch me opening my lips again."

"Keep 'em shut then," growled old Ketch.

Mr. Ketch leisurely finished his supper, and the two continued talking
until dusk came on--almost dark; for the porter, churl though he was,
liked a visitor as well as any one--possibly as a vent for his temper.
He did not often find one who would stand it so meekly as Joe Jenkins.
At length Mr. Jenkins lifted himself off the shut-up press bedstead on
which he had been perched, and prepared to depart.

"Come along of me while I lock up," said Ketch, somewhat less
ungraciously than usual.

Mr. Jenkins hesitated. "My wife will be wondering what has become of
me; she'll blow me up for keeping supper waiting," debated he, aloud.
"But--well, I don't mind going with you this once, for company's sake,"
he added in his willingness to be obliging.

The two large keys, one at each end of a string, were hung up just
within the lodge door; they belonged to the two gates of the cloisters.
Old Ketch took them down and went out with Jenkins, merely closing his
own door; he rarely fastened it, unless he was going some distance.

Very dark were the enclosed cloisters, as they entered by the west
gate. It was later than the usual hour of closing, and it was,
moreover, a gloomy evening, the sky overcast. They went through the