Galloping Dick
Dartford Compter is the place for you,” and chuckled as if he had made a jest. But Timothy said nothing, shifting his small eyes from one to another viciously.
“What!” says the innkeeper, “is this a highwayman?” and retreated a step.
The Justice nodded in good humour. “But he won’t be one much longer, I fear me,” he says.
“Faith, ’twas a matter I know much about,” says the fat chandler complacently, “for me and this gentleman discussed it over our wine.”
“Ah!” says the Justice with an approving glance at me, “a fine tall fellow that, Tyrwhitt, whom I commend to your kind hospitality for his wound’s sake.”
“O, I shall be well enough, your worship,” said I, getting on my feet, “and I will e’en take the generous offer of my friend here for a bandage and another glass.”
“And welcome,” says the chandler, very warmly.
All the time Timothy Grubbe said nothing, only looking at me with a scowling smile. He
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