I'll walk the rest of the way," he said presently to the groom.

"You needn't come for me, Finn; I'll walk back as far as the Marochal Tavern.

At twelve sharp I'll be there.

Give yourself a drink and some supper"-- he put a dollar into the man's hand--"and no white whiskey, mind: a bottle of beer and a leg of mutton, that's the thing." He nodded his head, and by the light of the moon walked away smartly down the corduroy-road through the shadows of the swamp.

Finn the groom looked after him.
"Well, if he ain't a queer dick! A reg'lar 'centric--but a reg'lar brick, cutting a wide swathe as he goes.