"Let's go on the pier," said Denry. "It will be splendid."
He was not an hour in the town, and yet was already hanging expense!
"They've closed the pier," the girls told him.
But when in the course of their meanderings among the excited crowd
under the gas-lamps they arrived at the pier-gates, Denry perceived
figures on the pier.
"They're sailors and things, and the Mayor," the girls explained.
"Pooh!" said Denry, fired.
He approached the turnstile and handed a card to the official. It was
the card of an advertisement agent of the _Staffordshire Signal_,
who had called at Brougham Street in Denry's absence about the renewal
of Denry's advertisement.
"Press," said Denry to the guardian at the turnstile, and went through
with the ease of a bird on the wing.
"Come along," he cried to the girls.
The guardian seemed to hesitate.
"These ladies are with me," he said.
The guardian yielded.
It was a triumph for Denry. He could read his triumph in the eyes of his
companions. When she looked at him like that, Ruth was assuredly
marvellous among women, and any ideas derogatory to her marvellousness
which he might have had at Bursley and in the train were false ideas.
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