Suppose we go down to your
place, Milsom! you can give us a bit of supper, I dare say. What do you
say to that?"
Milsom hesitated in a sheepish kind of manner. "Mine's such a poor
place for a gentleman like the captain," he said. "My daughter Jenny
will do her best to make things straight and comfortable; but still it
is about the poorest place that ever was--there's no denying that."
"I'm no fine gentleman," said the captain, enraptured at the idea of
seeing the ballad-singer; "if your daughter will give us a crust of
bread and cheese, I shall be satisfied. We'll take two or three bottles
of wine down with us, and we'll be as jolly as princes. Get your trap
ready, Wayman, and let's be off at once."
The captain was all impatience to start. Dennis Wayman went away to get
the vehicle ready, and Milsom followed him, but they did not leave
Captain Jernam much time for thought, for Dennis Wayman came back
almost immediately to say that the vehicle was ready.
"Now, then, look sharp, captain!" he said; "it's a dark night, and we
shall have a dark drive."
It was a dark night--dark even here in Wapping, darker still on the
road by which Valentine Jernam found himself travelling presently.
The vehicle which Dennis Wayman drove was a disreputable-looking
conveyance--half chaise-cart, half gig--and the pony was a
vicious-looking animal, with a shaggy mane; but he was a tremendous
pony to go, and the dark, marshy country flew past the travellers in
the darkness like a landscape in a dream.
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