he got it. He demanded his fare
as if he had never before seen me; nor was it till I demanded if his
rascally mate, whom I pitched into the river, had ever reached the
shore, that he condescended to recall what happened ten days before.

But I was in no humour to heed his bluster; and I let him swear on. Had
he been civil I should have had to pay him; as it was, he spared me
that, and was lucky that I did not crack his skull with his own oar,
into the bargain. I spent the twopence on bread and meat at his inn,
and he durst not refuse it; then, with light purse and heavy heart, I
set out to reach London that night. It mattered little to me that the
way was beset with robbers and bullies. I had neither horse nor cloak;
my homely apparel was rent and dirty; my boots were in holes, and my
belt was empty. I was not worth robbing, and the few who set on me in
mistake, did not stay long when they found the temper I was in. So late
that night--it must have been towards midnight--I brought my journey to
an end, and stood at my master's door.

Here a sore rebuff met me. For a long time I knocked and called in
vain, and woke the echoes of the sleeping Strand. Then from an upper
window a voice descended:

"Who goes there? Hold your peace, with a plague on you, or I'll call
the watch."

"It is I, Humphrey Dexter. Is that you Master Walgrave?"

"Walgrave! Master Walgrave! you will find him where he has a right to
be, in the White Lion; and if you be the apprentice that he spoke of,
harkee, the less you are seen about here the better for you; for they
say you are as great a knave as your master."

"The White Lion! My master in gaol!" cried I, amazed. "How comes that?
Is it true or a lie? By whose order?"

"Make less noise at this hour," said the voice, "and if you doubt me, go
and ask. But take my warning and be not seen too near here. Your
indentures are ended for long enough. Go and seek a new master and a
better; and leave me to sleep in peace."

With that, the window closed, and there was no more to be said.

I could scarcely believe the news the man told me. And yet, when I
remembered my master's disorderly ways, and the secret press in the
cellar, it was easier understood. Yet it must be for some other
business than that which took me to Oxford. For the Bishop's man I had
met certainly never had Mr Walgrave's name from me, nor had a single
copy of that scandalous libel, "A Whip for the Bishops," es