"
"I'll see the inside of his house, however tough he may be," answered
Milsom, in a dogged tone. "If he's a tough customer, he'll find me a
tougher. Has he got any family?"
"One daughter--as pretty a girl as you'll see within twenty miles of
London!"
"Well, we'll go and have a look at his place to-night. We'd better put
up your trap at the 'Pilot Boat.'"
Mr. Wayman assented to the wisdom of this arrangement. The "Pilot Boat"
was a dilapidated-looking, low-roofed little inn, where there were some
tumble-down stables, which were more often inhabited by bloated grey
water-rats than by horses. In these stables Mr. Wayman lodged his pony
and vehicle, while he and Milsom walked on to the cottage.
"Why I shouldn't have known the place!" cried Milsom, as his companion
pointed to the captain's habitation.
The transformation was, indeed, complete. The dismal dwelling, which
had looked as if it were, in all truth, haunted by a ghost, had been
changed into one of the smartest little cottages to be seen in the
suburbs of eastern London.
The ditch had been narrowed and embanked, and two tiny rustic bridges,
of fantastical wood-work, spanned its dark water. The dreary pollard-
willows had vanished, and evergreens occupied their places. The black
rushes had been exchanged for flowers. A trim little garden appeared
where all had once been waste ground; and a flag-staff, with a bit of
bunting, gave a naval aspect to the spot.
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