This was Verty, who, absorbed as completely by his own thoughts as was Mr. Jinks, did not see that gentleman until Cloud very nearly walked over the diminutive Fodder.

Mr. Jinks laid his hand on his sword, and frowned; for it was one of the maxims of this great militaire, that one is never more apt to escape an attack than when he appears to hold himself in readiness, and seems prepared for either event.

Verty did not consider himself bound, however, to engage in a combat at the moment; and so with grave politeness, bowed and passed on his way.

They arrived at the tavern nearly at the same moment.

Ralph was sitting on the porch, inhaling the fresh October air, gazing at the bright waves of the little stream which sparkled by beneath the willows; and at times varying these amusements by endeavoring to smoke from a pipe which had gone out, He looked the picture of indolent enjoyment.

Within a few feet of him sat the ruddy, full-faced landlord, as idle as himself.

At sight of Mr. Jinks and Verty, Ralph rose, with a smile, and came toward them.

“Ah! my dear Jinks,” he said, after bowing to Verty familiarly, “how did you get out of that scrape?  I regret that business of a private and important nature forced me to leave you, and go round the corner.  How did it result?”

“Triumphantly, sir!” said Mr. Jinks, dismounting, and, with great dignity, entrusting Fodder to a stable-boy, lounging near; “that hound, O’Brallaghan, knew his place, sir, and did not presume to complain—­”

“Of Fodder?”

“Of anything, sir.”

“The fact is, it would have been ridiculous.  What had he to complain of, I should like to be informed.  So he retreated?”

“He did, sir,” said Mr. Jinks, with dignity, “amid the hisses of the assembled crowd.”

“Just as I suspected; it would take a bold fellow to force such a Don Quixote and Dapple, as yourself and Fodder!”

“Yes; although I regretted,” said Mr. Jinks, with great dignity, “the accident which occurred when we set out, I rejoice at having had an occasion to inform that Irish conspirator and St. Michael-hater, that I held him in opprobrious contempt.”

And Mr. Jinks glanced at the landlord.

“He was making the breeches for St. Michael, whom he is to represent,” said Mr. Jinks, “day after to-morrow; and I have not done with him—­the Irish villain!”

Mr. Jinks looked again, significantly, at the host.

That gentleman had not lost a word of the conversation, and his sleepy eyes now opened.  He beckoned to Mr. Jinks.  A smile illumined the countenance of the worthy—­the landlord was a German;—­the plot against Irish O’Brallaghan was gaining strength.

The landlord rose, and, with a significant look, entered the house, followed by Mr. Jinks, who turned his head, as he disappeared, to cast a triumphant look upon Ralph.