“We are way-faring workmen,” he replied simply, and I gave him some coppers--those large English “tuppences” that annoyed me so much. He went back to the others and they stood huddled in the square together like sheep, conferring, but finally they went off together in the dark. At the inn adjacent I expected to find an exceptional English scene of some kind but I was more or less disappointed. It was homey but not so different from old New England life. The room was large with an open fire and a general table set with white linen and plates for a dozen guests or more. A shambling boy in clothes much too big for him came and took my order, turning up the one light and stirring the fire. I called for a paper and read it and then I sat wondering whether the food would be good or bad. While I was waiting a second traveler arrived, a small, dapper, sandy-haired person, with shrewd, fresh, inquisitive eyes--a self-confident and yet clerkly man. “Good evening,” he said, and I gave him the time of day. He bustled to a little writing table nearby and sat down to write, calling for a pen, paper, his slippers--I was rather puzzled by that demand--and various other things. On sight this gentleman (I suppose the English would abuse me for that word) looked anything but satisfactory. I suspected he was Scotch and that he was cheap minded and narrow. Later something about his manner and the healthy, brisk way in which, when his slippers came, he took off his shoes and put them on--quite cheerful and homelike--soothed me. “He isn’t so bad,” I thought. “He’s probably a traveling salesman--the English type. I’d better be genial, I may learn something.” Soon the waiter returned (arrayed by this time, remarkable to relate, in a dress suit the size of which was a piece of pure comedy in itself), and brought the stranger toast and chops and tea. The latter drew up to the other end of the table from me with quite an air of appetite and satisfaction. “They don’t usually put us fellows in with you,” he observed, stating something the meaning of which I did not grasp for the moment. “Us traveling men usually have a separate dining- and writing-room. Our place seems to be shut up here to-night for some reason. I wouldn’t have called for my slippers here if they had the other room open.” “Oh, that’s quite all right,” I replied, gathering some odd class distinction. “I prefer company to silence. You say you travel?” “Yes, I’m connected with a house in London. I travel in the south of England.” “Tell me,” I said, “is this a typical English town from the point of view of life and business, or is it the only one of its kind? It’s rather curious to me.”