A Unionist was standing at the bar; Mr.Cullen hurried on, into a street yet darker.

Again he tip-toed at a window.

The glimpse reassured him; he passed quickly through the doorway, stepped to the bar, gave an order.
Then he turned, and behold, on a seat just under the window sat Mr.
Cowes, & short pipe in his mouth, a smoking tumbler held on his knee.
The supporters of total abstinence nodded to each other, with a slight lack of spontaneity.

Mr.Cullen, having secured his own tumbler, came by his comrade's side.
'Deal o' fine talk to wind up with,' he remarked tentatively.
'He means what he says,' returned the other gravely.
'Oh yes,' Mr.Cullen hastened to admit.

'Mutimer means what he says! Only the way of saying it, I meant--I've got a bit of a sore throat.' 'So have I.After that there hot room.' They nodded at each other sympathetically.