All this happened just as John Gordon came up to the corner of the road, from whence, by a pathway, turned the main entrance into Mr Whittlestaff's garden. He could not but see the drunken red-nosed man, and the old woman, whom he recognised as Mr Whittlestaff's servant, and a crowd of persons around, idlers out of Alresford, who had followed Sergeant Baggett up to the scene of his present exploits. Croker's Hall was not above a mile from the town, just where the town was beginning to become country, and where the houses all had gardens belonging to them, and the larger houses a field or two. "Yes, sir, master is at home. If you'll please to ring the bell, one of the girls will come out." This was said by Mrs Baggett, advancing almost over the body of her prostrate husband. "Drunken brute!" she said, by way of a salute, as she passed him. He only laughed aloud, and looked around upon the bystanders with triumph.
At this moment Mr Whittlestaff came down through the gate into the road. "Oh, Mr Gordon! good morning, sir. You find us rather in a disturbed condition this morning. I am sorry I did not think of asking you to come to breakfast. But perhaps, under all the circumstances it was better not. That dreadful man has put us sadly about. He is the unfortunate husband of my hardly less unfortunate housekeeper."
"Yes, sir, he is my husband,--that's true," said Mrs Baggett.
"I'm wery much attached to my wife, if you knew all about it, sir; and I wants her to come home with me. Service ain't no inheritance; nor yet ain't wages, when they never amounts to more than twenty pounds a-year."
"It's thirty, you false ungrateful beast!" said Mrs Baggett. But in the meantime Mr Whittlestaff had led the way into the garden, and John Gordon had followed him. Before they reached the hall-door, Mary Lawrie had met them.
"Oh, Mr Whittlestaff!" she said, "is it not annoying? that dreadful man with the wooden leg is here, and collecting a crowd round the place. Good morning, Mr Gordon. It is the poor woman's ne'er-do-well husband. She is herself so decent and respectable, that she will be greatly harassed. What can we do, Mr Whittlestaff? Can't we get a policeman?" In this way the conversation was led away to the affairs of Sergeant and Mrs Baggett, to the ineffable distress of John Gordon. When we remember the kind of speeches which Gordon intended to utter, the sort of eloquence which he desired to use, it must be admitted that the interruption was provoking. Even if Mary would leave them together, it would be difficult to fall back upon the subject which Gordon had at heart.