On his way up to Old Town that evening he met the Reverend Spink and asked him how long the Franco-Prussian war had lasted.
The curate still had the ruffled and resentful air of a fighting cockerel who has a grievance against the referee. Lady Augusta, indeed, had passed a busy morning smoothing his plumage and inducing him to withdraw his resignation. His meeting with Alf served as further balm to his wounded spirit; for above all else the Reverend Spink loved to be appealed to as a scholar.
Now he answered Alf with a learned frown,
"Six months. It began at the same date as this. They were in Paris by January."
"As long as that!" said Alf surprised. "Looks as if they'd be quicker this time!"
A thought struck him. He turned down Borough Lane, and went to call on Ruth.
She was at home, alone in the kitchen, her babes in bed. He did not enter, but stood in the door awhile before she was aware of him, watching her with sugary and secretive smile.
She looked up, saw him; and the light faded out of her face.
"So Ern's gone to the wars," he said. "You'll be a bit lonely like o nights, the evenings drawing in and all. Say, I might drop in on you when I got the time. I'm not so busy, as I was. Likely I'll be goin back to drive for Mr. Trupp now."
She rose, formidable as a lioness at bay in the mouth of her cave.
"Out of it!" she ordered, and flung an imperious hand towards the door.
A navvy, who had been watching him from a door opposite, shouldered heavily across the street to meet him. He was a very big man with a very small head, dressed in corduroys; of the type you still meet in the pages of Punch but seldom in real life. His hands were deep in his pockets, and he said quietly without so much as removing his pipe.
Alf paused, astonished. Then he thought the other must have mistaken his man in the dusk.
"Here! d'you know who you're talkin to?" he asked.
The navvy showed himself quite undisturbed.
"Oughter," he said, "seein you and me was dragg'd oop same school togedder along o Mr. Pigott back yarnderr. You're Alf Caspar, and I be Reuben Deadman. There's an old saying these paarts you may have heard--_When there isn't a Deadman in Lewes Gaol you may knaw the end o't world's at hand_. I've not been in maself, not yet. When I goos I'll goo for to swing--for you--for old times sake; let alone the dirty dish you done Old Tip and them this arternoon."