“That’s luck,” observed the pickpocket, as the travelers disappear’d down the highway: “To-morrow, with a slice of it, I might be riding in such a coach as that, and have the hydropsy, to boot. Good lack! when I was ta’en prisoner by the Turks a-sailing i’ the _Mary_ of London, and sold for a slave at Algiers, I escap’d, after two months, with Eli Sprat, a Gravesend man, in a small open boat. Well, we sail’d three days and nights, and all the time there was a small sea bird following, flying round and round us, and calling two notes that sounded for all the world like ‘Wind’ard! Wind’ard!’ So at last says Eli, ‘’Tis heaven’s voice bidding us ply to wind’ard.’ And so we did, and on the fourth day made Marseilles; and who should be first to meet Eli on the quay but a Frenchwoman he had married five years before, and left. And the jade had him clapp’d in the pillory, alongside of a cheating fishmonger with a collar of stinking smelts, that turn’d poor Eli’s stomach completely. Now there’s somewhat to set against the story of Whittington next time ’tis told you.” I was now for bidding the old rascal good-bye. But he offer’d to go with me as far as Hungerford, where we should turn into the Bath road. At first I was shy of accepting, by reason of his coat, wherein patches of blue, orange-tawny and flame-color quite overlaid the parent black: but closed with him upon his promise to teach me the horsemanship that I so sadly lacked. And by time we enter’d Hungerford town I was advanced so far, and bestrode my old grey so easily, that in gratitude I offer’d him supper and bed at an inn, if he would but buy a new coat: to which he agreed, saying that the world was good. By this, the day was clouded over and the rain coming down apace. So that as soon as my comrade was decently array’d at the first slopshop we came to, ’twas high time to seek an inn. We found quarters at “The Horn,” and sought the travelers’ room, and a fire to dry ourselves. In this room, at the window, were two men who look’d lazily up at our entrance. They were playing at a game, which was no other than to race two snails up a pane of glass and wager which should prove the faster. “A wet day!” said my comrade, cheerfully. The pair regarded him. “I’ll lay you a crown it clears within the hour!” said one. “And I another,” put in the other; and with that they went back to their sport. Drawing near, I myself was soon as eager as they in watching the snails, when my companion drew my notice to a piece of writing on the window over which they were crawling. ’Twas a set of verses scribbled there, that must have been scratch’d with a diamond: and to my surprise—for I had not guess’d him a scholar—he read them out for my benefit. Thus the writing ran, for I copied it later: “_Master Ephraim Tucker_, his dying councell to wayfardingers; to seek _The Splendid Spur_.