And, even as he turned his head to look, the very man
that had dragged Walter Skinner from his horse detached the little man
from the grasp of the careless officer, and bade him flee. "Flee away,
thou half-drunken scullion," said his liberator. "Thou dost lack thy
wits, and so I would not have thee also lack thy liberty."
Now Walter Skinner was in that condition when, although he could not
walk straight, he could run. And away he went, his first impetus
carrying him well down into Bow Lane, which opened from Cheapside to
the south, where he speedily brought up against a curb post and fell
into the gutter. His appearance was not improved when he rose, but he
started again, and took this time, not the curb post, but a stout
farmer. The farmer instinctively bracing himself to meet the shock of
Walter Skinner's fall against him, no harm was done; but he whirled
round, grasped the little terrified rascal by the shoulder, and hurried
him into the adjacent inn yard. "Had I been an old woman or a young
child I might have been sprawling in the gutter," he began severely,
"and all because of thee.
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