It was a silly thing to say, and I saw it arterwards, but I was in such a temper I ’ardly knew wot I was saying.  I slammed the wicket in ’is face and turned the key and then I took off my clothes and went down that ladder agin.

It seemed colder than ever, and the mud when I got fairly into it was worse than I thought it could ha’ been.  It stuck to me like glue, and every step I took seemed colder than the one before.  ’Owever, when I make up my mind to do a thing, I do it.  I fixed my eyes on the place where I thought the purse was, and every time I felt anything under my foot I reached down and picked it up—­and then chucked it away as far as I could so as not to pick it up agin.  Dirty job it was, too, and in five minutes I was mud up to the neck, a’most.  And I ’ad just got to wot I thought was the right place, and feeling about very careful, when the bell rang agin.

I thought I should ha’ gorn out o’ my mind.  It was just a little tinkle at first, then another tinkle, but, as I stood there all in the dark and cold trying to make up my mind to take no notice of it, it began to ring like mad.  I ’ad to go—­I’ve known men climb over the gate afore now—­and I didn’t want to be caught in that dock.

The mud seemed stickier than ever, but I got out at last, and, arter scraping some of it off with a bit o’ stick, I put on my coat and trousers and boots just as I was and went to the gate, with the bell going its ’ardest all the time.

When I opened the gate and see the landlord of the Bear’s Head standing there I turned quite dizzy, and there was a noise in my ears like the roaring of the sea.  I should think I stood there for a couple o’ minutes without being able to say a word.  I could think of ’em.

“Don’t be frightened, Bill,” ses the landlord.  “I’m not going to eat you.”

“He looks as if he’s walking in ’is sleep,” ses the fat policeman, wot was standing near by.  “Don’t startle ’im.”

“He always looks like that,” ses the landlord.

I stood looking at ’im.  I could speak then, but I couldn’t think of any words good enough; not with a policeman standing by with a notebook in ’is pocket.

“Wot was you ringing my bell for?” I ses, at last.

“Why didn’t you answer it before?” ses the landlord.  “D’you think I’ve got nothing better to do than to stand ringing your bell for three-quarters of an hour?  Some people would report you.”

“I know my dooty,” I ses; “there’s no craft up to-night, and no reason for anybody to come to my bell.  If I was to open the gate every time a parcel of overgrown boys rang my bell I should ’ave enough to do.”

“Well, I’ll overlook it this time, seeing as you’re an old man and couldn’t get another sleeping-in job,” he ses, looking at the policeman for him to see ’ow clever ’e was.  “Wot about that tanner?  That’s wot I’ve come for.”

“You be off,” I ses, starting to shut the wicket.  “You won’t get no tanner out of me.”