"My honest friend," he
said, "I shall make it a point to patronize your house on some
occasion when"- here he could not help lowering his voice- "when I may
have more than a parchment three-pence in my pocket. My present
business," continued he, speaking with lofty confidence, "is merely to
inquire my way to the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux."
There was a sudden and general movement in the room, which Robin
interpreted as expressing the eagerness of each individual to become
his guide. But the innkeeper turned his eyes to a written paper on the
wall, which he read, or seemed to read, with occasional recurrences to
the young man's figure.
"What have we here?" said he, breaking his speech into little dry
fragments. "'Left the house of the subscriber, bounden servant,
Hezekiah Mudge- had on, when he went away, gray coat, leather
breeches, master's third-best hat. One pound currency reward to
whosoever shall lodge him in any jail of the province.' Better trudge,
boy, better trudge!"
Robin had begun to draw his hand towards the lighter end of the oak
cudgel, but a strange hostility in every countenance induced him to
relinquish his purpose of breaking the courteous innkeeper's head.
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