Mr. Wilks turned and groped his way to the door.  Then he went a little way back with some idea of defending himself, but the door of the room was slammed in his face.  He walked slowly down the path to the road and stood there for some time in helpless bewilderment.  In all his sixty years of life his feelings had never been so outraged.  His cap was still in his hand, and, with a helpless gesture, he put it on and scattered his floral offering in the road.  Then he made a bee-line for the Two Schooners.

Though convivial by nature and ever free with his money, he sat there drinking alone in silent misery.  Men came and went, but he still sat there noting with mournful pride the attention caused by his unusual bearing.  To casual inquiries he shook his head; to more direct ones he only sighed heavily and applied himself to his liquor.  Curiosity increased with numbers as the day wore on, and the steward, determined to be miserable, fought manfully against an ever-increasing cheerfulness due to the warming properties of the ale within.

“I ’ope you ain’t lost nobody, Sam?” said a discomfited inquirer at last.

Mr. Wilks shook his head.

“You look as though you’d lost a shilling and found a ha’penny,” pursued the other.

“Found a what?” inquired Mr. Wilks, wrinkling his forehead.

“A ha’penny,” said his friend.

“Who did?” said Mr. Wilks.

The other attempted to explain and was ably assisted by two friends, but without avail; the impression left on Mr. Wilks’s mind being that somebody had got a shilling of his.  He waxed exceeding bitter, and said that he had been missing shillings for a long time.

“You’re labourin’ under a mistake, Sam,” said the first speaker.

Mr. Wilks laughed scornfully and essayed a sneer, while his friends, regarding his contortions with some anxiety, expressed a fear that he was not quite himself.  To this suggestion the steward deigned no reply, and turning to the landlord bade him replenish his mug.

“You’ve ’ad enough, Mr. Wilks,” said that gentleman, who had been watching him for some time.

Mr. Wilks, gazing at him mistily, did not at first understand the full purport of this remark; but when he did, his wrath was so majestic and his remarks about the quality of the brew so libellous that the landlord lost all patience.

“You get off home,” he said, sharply.

“Listen t’ me,” said Mr. Wilks, impressively.

“I don’t want no words with you,” said the land-lord.  “You get off home while you can.”

“That’s right, Sam,” said one of the company, putting his hand on the steward’s arm.  “You take his advice.”

Mr. Wilks shook the hand off and eyed his adviser ferociously.  Then he took a glass from the counter and smashed it on the floor.  The next moment the bar was in a ferment, and the landlord, gripping Mr. Wilks round the middle, skilfully piloted him to the door and thrust him into the road.