companion, who had checked his horse instead of urging it forward, and was walking instead of galloping this horrible gauntlet. Tom could see but one sunburnt cheek and one cold blue eye; but the first kept its colour, the second never flinched, and the gross lip, that jutted out between beard and moustache, never quivered once all the way. Nor until he was well past the gang did Mr. Nat put spurs to his horse; but when he did, it was not to draw rein until they reached the next roadside inn; and there he vanished, to reappear next day with running eyes and shaking hands.
“I wouldn’t be assigned to him for something!” said the barman, with whom Tom made friends. “You might as well go to Norfolk Island straight as to Castle Sullivan. Tell you what, mate, I’d give him the go-by to-night, for you’ll never have a better chance. And see here, I’ll come with you, for I’m dead-sick of my job!”
Tom shook his head.
“No, no, my friend; he may be all you say, but he’s treated me well enough so far, and I mean to stick to him.”
“Oh, the young cove’s not the worst. It’s the old cove I was thinking of.”
“What old cove?”
“Dr. Sullivan, this one’s father.”
He had a father, then? Mr. Nat had never mentioned him. And the old man was worse to do with than the son?
Tom put these questions to himself, and then another to his friend the barman, after shortly telling the latter about the behaviour of the iron-gang. “Why was all that?” said Tom.
“Why? Because half them crawlers have worked for
