'Where's Aunt Maud?' asked the younger.
'She's at the Railway Arms--we passed it, just against Rollin's Mill
Crossing.... They sent me a note this morning to go an' see her when I
can spare time. She's got consumption.'
'Good Lord! Are you going?'
'Yes--'
But again Berry felt that his uncle was afraid.
The young man got through his commission in the village, had a drink with
his uncle at the inn, and the two were returning home. The elder man's
subject of conversation was Australia. As they drew near the town they
grew silent, thinking both of the public-house. At last they saw the
gates of the railway crossing were closed before them.
'Shan't you call?' asked Berry, jerking his head in the direction of the
inn, which stood at the corner between two roads, its sign hanging under
a bare horse-chestnut tree in front.
'I might as well. Come in an' have a drink,' said the uncle.
It had been raining all the morning, so shallow pools of water lay about.
A brewer's wagon, with wet barrels and warm-smelling horses, stood near
the door of the inn. Everywhere seemed silent, but for the rattle of
trains at the crossing. The two men went uneasily up the steps and into
the bar. The place was paddled with wet feet, empty. As the bar-man was
heard approaching, the uncle asked, his usual bluster slightly hushed by
fear:
'What yer goin' ta have, lad? Same as last time?'
A man entered, evidently the proprietor.
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