They adjourned to the stable accordingly, which, though a poor one, had been hastily supplied with whatever was necessary for the accommodation of four excellent horses; one of which, that from which Ganlesse was just dismounted, the groom we have mentioned was cleaning and dressing by the light of a huge wax-candle. “I am still so far Catholic,” said Ganlesse, laughing, as he saw that Peveril noticed this piece of extravagance. “My horse is my saint, and I dedicate a candle to him.” “Without asking so great a favour for mine, which I see standing behind yonder old hen-coop,” replied Peveril, “I will at least relieve him of his saddle and bridle.” “Leave him to the lad of the inn,” said Smith; “he is not worthy of any other person’s handling; and I promise you, if you slip a single buckle, you will so flavour of that stable duty, that you might as well eat roast-beef as ragouts, for any relish you will have of them.” “I love roast-beef as well as ragouts, at any time,” said Peveril, adjusting himself to a task which every young man should know how to perform when need is; “and my horse, though it be but a sorry jade, will champ better on hay and corn, than on an iron bit.” While he was unsaddling his horse, and shaking down some litter for the poor wearied animal, he heard Smith observe to Ganlesse,--“By my faith, Dick, thou hast fallen into poor Slender’s blunder; missed Anne Page, and brought us a great lubberly post-master’s boy.” “Hush, he will hear thee,” answered Ganlesse; “there are reasons for all things--it is well as it is. But, prithee, tell thy fellow to help the youngster.” “What!” replied Smith, “d’ye think I am mad?--Ask Tom Beacon--Tom of Newmarket--Tom of ten thousand, to touch such a four-legged brute as that?--Why, he would turn me away on the spot--discard me, i’faith. It was all he would do to take in hand your own, my good friend; and if you consider him not the better, you are like to stand groom to him yourself to-morrow.” “Well, Will,” answered Ganlesse, “I will say that for thee, thou hast a set of the most useless, scoundrelly, insolent vermin about thee, that ever ate up a poor gentleman’s revenues.” “Useless? I deny it,” replied Smith. “Every one of my fellows does something or other so exquisitely, that it were sin to make him do anything else--it is your jacks-of-all-trades who are masters of none.--But hark to Chaubert’s signal. The coxcomb is twangling it on the lute, to the tune of _Eveillez-vous, belle endormie_.--Come, Master What d’ye call (addressing Peveril),--get ye some water, and wash this filthy witness from your hand, as Betterton says in the play; for Chaubert’s cookery is like Friar Bacon’s Head--time is--time was--time will soon be no more.” So saying, and scarce allowing Julian time to dip his hands in a bucket, and dry them on a horse-cloth, he hurried him from the stable back to the supper-chamber.