"What'll you stand?" said the man heavily. "A couple of pints," said Mr Hallett. "All right; up you get," said the man. "You must lie atop o' the hay. I only goes to Whitechapel, you know." "That will do," said Mr Hallett. And together we climbed up, and lay down, twelve or fifteen feet above the road, on the top of the sweet-scented trusses of hay; the carter cracked his whip, and away we went jolting over the road, with the stars above us, and my couch seeming delicious to my weary limbs, as the scent seemed to bring up my sleeping place by the hay-rick, when I ran away from Rowford and my slavery at Mr Blakeford's house. "That's one of the peculiarities of the true-born Briton, Tony," said Mr Hallett, after a pause. "What is, sir?" "The love and reverence for beer. If I had offered that man sixpence or a shilling to give us a ride, he would have laughed me to scorn. Two pints of beer, you see, carry us right to town, and another pint would have acted like a return ticket to bring us back." "To bring us back?" I said in drowsy accents; and, trusting to my companion to save me from a fall, I dropped into a heavy dreamless sleep, from which I was aroused by Mr Hallett, who shook my arm and told me that we were once more in town. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. WILLIAM REVITTS IS ANGRY. Mr Hallett saw me right to the door of my lodgings before he left me, shaking hands warmly as he said "Good-night," and altered it to "Good-morning." I was thoroughly awake now, and somewhat refreshed as I ascended the stairs very gently, having risen now to the honour of a latchkey. It was Revitts' turn for day-duty, and I was unwilling to disturb him, so I had slipped off my boots, and cautiously turning the handle of the door, I entered, to find, to my surprise, a light burning, and Mr Revitts buttoned up in his uniform and with his heavy hat upon his head. "Oh, here you are, then," he cried roughly. "What, not in bed!" I said. "In bed? How was I going to bed? I was just orf to the station to send word round as you was missing, and to make inquiries where the vans went from." "Oh, Mr Revitts! Oh, Bill, I am sorry!" I cried. "Don't you Bill me, young man," he cried. "Now, lookye here. Was it an accident to the van as made you late?" "No," I said; "it was--" "There!" he cried, bringing his fist down heavily upon the table. "I won't hear another word. I won't listen to you. Those vans was doo back at ten thirty--say eleven, and it's now two forty-five." "Yes, Bill, but--" "Don't Bill me," he cried; and, running to the corner of the room, he caught up a black silver-topped cane, with shabby silk tassels. "Look here," he said; "for the last hour or two I've been thinking whether, as your best friend, I oughtn't to give you a good wilting down, only you're such a man now that I can't stoop to hit the feller as I've made my friend." "But will you listen to me, Bill?" I cried angrily.