Through the uncurtained window the yellow light of the bar parlour streamed out into the darkness of the November night. Standing in the road, his hand fingering the two odd coppers in his trousers pocket, Mr. William Bates gazed irresolutely at the inviting gleam. He was weighing the relative merits of a fire and a glass of beer at the present moment against those of a crude but satisfying breakfast of bread and cheese on the following morning. A clink of glasses, followed by a sudden burst of laughter, seemed to decide the matter, for, casting forethought aside, he advanced up the cobbled pathway and pushed open the door of the little country inn. He found himself in a small, low-ceilinged room, lit by a hanging lamp. A wood fire was smouldering away on the open hearth, and round its fragrant glow two or three men were seated in various attitudes of convivial comfort. They all looked up as he entered. Mr. Bates, being an unobtrusive person by nature, seated himself quietly on an oak settle against the wall. An enormously stout man, who had discarded his coat and was smoking a much-coloured churchwarden, rose slowly from his chair. "Even," he remarked in a genial rumble. "Nasty night, ain't it?" Mr. Bates nodded and shivered. "Come a bit closer to the fire, mate," went on the landlord, for such was evidently the stout gentleman's calling. "You look fair perished." Two of the men moved back their chairs, and Mr. Bates, accepting the invitation, shifted into a vacant seat at the corner of the hearth. "Glass of beer, please," he said, as the landlord, with an interrogative glance, threw up a small wooden partition that communicated with the bar. The refreshment having arrived, and Mr. Bates having parted with three of his four last half-pennies, the general conversation interrupted by his entrance was resumed. "Seems to be something funny about it," observed the landlord, looking across at the thin man with gaiters who was sitting on the edge of the table. "Blooming funny!" emphasized the local postman. "Well, that were his message, any'ow. 'E says: 'Tell 'Orniman that I'll be along with my box by 'alf-past nine, and that I'll be wanting to sleep the night,' 'E's 'ad a proper row with the old man and chucked 'is job--that's what 'e's done." "Got the sack, more like," observed the postman, spitting ironically into the fire. "That's as it may be; anyway, I've gived the message." "What's the Professor going to do?" inquired the landlord. "Ah," said the man with gaiters. "Advertise for summon else, I suppose. 'E won't 'ave no women about the place, that's certain." "Job worth 'aving," put in a red-whiskered man who had not previously spoken--"at least, judgin' by the amount o' drink Andrew got through." "No one can say as Andrew weren't free with 'is money," observed the gaitered man. "If it _were_ 'is money," put in the postman unkindly.