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He might fail from want of skill or strength, but deep in his sombre soul he vowed that it should never be for want of heart. Mr. Fawcett was just mounting into his high-wheeled, spidery dogcart, with his little bit of blood between the shafts. He waved his whip and fell in behind the carriage. They overtook Purvis, the tomato-faced publican, upon the road, with his wife in her Sunday bonnet.
As a prospective host it was clearly my duty to take every reasonable precaution. Armed with my spoils I returned to the trap, and stored them away carefully beneath the seat. Then I climbed up alongside the driver. "Now you can go to Warren's Copse," I said; and without making any reply the tomato-faced gentleman jerked round his horse's head, and back we went up the street.
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