He glanced inquiringly at Peke, who returned the glance by one of warning.
"Best sit quiet a while longer," he said.

"They won't break up till closin' hour, an' m'appen there'll be a bit o' fun." "Ay, sit quiet!" said Tom o' the Gleam, catching these words, and turning towards Helmsley with a smile--"There's more than enough time for tramping.

Come! Show me if you can smoke _that_!" "That" was a choice Havana cigar which he took out of the pocket of his crimson wool waistcoat.

"You've smoked one before now, I'll warrant!" Helmsley met his flashing eyes without wavering.
"I will not say I have not," he answered quietly, accepting and lighting the fragrant weed, "but it was long ago!" "Ay, away in the Long, long ago!" said Tom, still regarding him fixedly, but kindly--"where we have all buried such a number of beautiful things,--loves and hopes and beliefs, and dreams and fortunes!--all, all tucked away under the graveyard grass of the Long Ago!" Here Miss Tranter's voice was heard again outside, saying acidly:-- "It's clear out and lock up at half-past ten, business or no business, duty or no duty.

Please remember that!" "'Ware, mates!" exclaimed Tom,--"Here comes our reverend!" The door was pushed open as he spoke, and a short, dark man in clerical costume walked in with a would-be imposing air of dignity.
"Good-evening, my friends!" he said, without lifting his hat.
There was no response.
He smiled sourly, and surveyed the assembled company with a curious air of mingled authority and contempt.