Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction
To which Ganlesse answered, in the same tone and tune,--
“Content thee, kind Robin;
He need little care,
Who brings home a fat buck
Instead of a hare.”
“You have missed your blow, then?” said the other, in reply.
“I tell you I have not,” answered Ganlesse; “but you will think of
nought but your own thriving occupation--May the plague that belongs to
it stick to it! though it hath been the making of thee.”
“A man must live, Diccon Ganlesse,” said the other.
“Well, well,” said Ganlesse, “bid my friend welcome, for my sake. Hast
thou got any supper?”
“Reeking like a sacrifice--Chaubert has done his best. That fellow is a
treasure! give him a farthing candle, and he will cook a good supper
out of it.--Come in, sir. My friend’s friend is welcome, as we say in my
country.”
“We must have our horses looked to first,” said Peveril, who began to
be considerably uncertain about the character of his companions--“that
done, I am for you.”
Ganlesse gave a second whistle; a groom appeared, who took charge of
both their horses, and they themselves entered the inn.
The ordinary room of a poor inn seemed to have undergone some
alterations, to render it fit for company of a higher description. There
were a beaufet, a couch, and one or two other pieces of furniture, of
a style inconsistent with the appearance of the place. The tablecloth,
which was already laid, was of the finest damask; and the spoons,
forks, &c., were of silver. Peveril looked at this apparatus with some
surprise; and again turning his eyes attentively upon his travelling
companion, Ganlesse, he could not help discovering (by the aid of
imagination, perhaps), that though insignificant in person, plain in
features, and dressed like one in indigence, there lurked still about
his person and manners, that indefinable ease of manner which belongs
only to men of birth and quality, or to those who are in the constant
habit of frequenting the best company. His companion, whom he called
Will Smith, although tall and rather good-looking, besides being
much better dressed, had not, nevertheless, exactly the same ease of
demeanour; and was obliged to make up for the want, by an additional
proportion of assurance. Who these two persons could be, Peveril could
not attempt even to form a guess. There was nothing for it but to watch
their manner and conversation.
After speaking a moment in whispers, Smith said to his companion, “We
must go look after our nags for ten minutes, and allow Chaubert to do
his office.”
“Will not he appear, and minister before us, then?” said Ganlesse.
“What! he?--he shift a trencher--he hand a cup?--No, you forget whom
you speak of. Such an order were enough to make him fall on his own
sword--he is already on the borders of despair, because no craw-fish are
to be had.”
“Alack-a day!” replied Ganlesse. “Heaven forbid I should add to such
a calamity! To stable, then, and see we how our steeds eat their
provender, while ours is getting ready.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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