“Well, as that’s not my fortune there’s no meaning in it to me.  But I should like to see the fun, if there’s nothing of the black art in it, and if a man may look on without cost or getting into any dangerous wrangle?”

“There will be no uproar at all,” said Timothy.  “Sure, Christian, if you’d like to come we’ll see there’s no harm done.”

“And no ba’dy gaieties, I suppose?  You see, neighbours, if so, it would be setting father a bad example, as he is so light moral’d.  But a gown-piece for a shilling, and no black art—­’tis worth looking in to see, and it wouldn’t hinder me half an hour.  Yes, I’ll come, if you’ll step a little way towards Mistover with me afterwards, supposing night should have closed in, and nobody else is going that way?”

One or two promised; and Christian, diverging from his direct path, turned round to the right with his companions towards the Quiet Woman.

When they entered the large common room of the inn they found assembled there about ten men from among the neighbouring population, and the group was increased by the new contingent to double that number.  Most of them were sitting round the room in seats divided by wooden elbows like those of crude cathedral stalls, which were carved with the initials of many an illustrious drunkard of former times who had passed his days and his nights between them, and now lay as an alcoholic cinder in the nearest churchyard.  Among the cups on the long table before the sitters lay an open parcel of light drapery—­the gown-piece, as it was called—­which was to be raffled for.  Wildeve was standing with his back to the fireplace smoking a cigar; and the promoter of the raffle, a packman from a distant town, was expatiating upon the value of the fabric as material for a summer dress.

“Now, gentlemen,” he continued, as the newcomers drew up to the table, “there’s five have entered, and we want four more to make up the number.  I think, by the faces of those gentlemen who have just come in, that they are shrewd enough to take advantage of this rare opportunity of beautifying their ladies at a very trifling expense.”

Fairway, Sam, and another placed their shillings on the table, and the man turned to Christian.

“No, sir,” said Christian, drawing back, with a quick gaze of misgiving.  “I am only a poor chap come to look on, an it please ye, sir.  I don’t so much as know how you do it.  If so be I was sure of getting it I would put down the shilling; but I couldn’t otherwise.”

“I think you might almost be sure,” said the pedlar.  “In fact, now I look into your face, even if I can’t say you are sure to win, I can say that I never saw anything look more like winning in my life.”

“You’ll anyhow have the same chance as the rest of us,” said Sam.

“And the extra luck of being the last comer,” said another.

“And I was born wi’ a caul, and perhaps can be no more ruined than drowned?” Christian added, beginning to give way.