Doctor Beckerleg was coming up the street, his hat pushed back and his neckcloth loosened as he respired the morning air.
The footsteps paused underneath, by the inn door; but the little Captain leant back in the window-seat without making a sign.

He had seen the Doctor's face.

Before the fire Captain Jemmy brooded, with chin on breast, hands grasping the chair-rail and long legs stretched out, one on each side of the hearth.

The knocking below did not rouse him from this posture, nor the creaking of feet on the stairs.
Doctor Beckerleg stood in the doorway and for a moment contemplated the scene--the empty bottles, the unsnuffed candles guttering down upon the table, and the grey faces of both drunken men.

Then he turned and whispered a word to the drawer, who had hurried out of bed to admit him and now stood behind his shoulder.