Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Irish -- England -- Fiction
When we came near the inn I began to glance up at the windows. I
surely expected to see a face at one of them. Certainly she would care
to know who was slain or who was hurt. She would be watching, I fondly
hoped, to see who returned on his legs. But the front of the inn
stared at us, chilly and vacant, like a prison wall.
When we entered, the Colonel bawled lustily for an immediate bottle of
wine, and I joined him in its drinking, for I knew that it would be a
bellows to my flagging spirits. I had set my heart upon seeing a face
at the window of the inn.
CHAPTER X
And now I found out what it was to be a famous swordsman. All that day
the inn seemed to hum with my name. I could not step down a corridor
without seeing flocks of servants taking wing. They fled tumultuously.
A silly maid coming from a chamber with a bucket saw me and shrieked.
She dropped her bucket and fled back into the chamber. A man-servant
saw me, gave a low moan of terror, and leaped down a convenient
stairway. All attendants scuttled aside.
What was the matter with me? Had I grown in stature or developed a
ferocious ugliness? No; I now was a famous swordsman. That was all. I
now was expected to try to grab the maids and kiss them wantonly. I
now was expected to clout the grooms on their ears if they so much as
showed themselves in my sight. In fact, I was now a great blustering,
overpowering, preposterous ass.
There was a crowd of people in the coffee-room, but the buzz of talk
suddenly ceased as I entered.
"Is this your chair, sir?" said I civilly to a gentleman.
He stepped away from the chair as if it had tried to bite him.
"'Tis at your service, sir!" he cried hastily.
"No," said I, "I would not be taking it if it be yours, for there are
just as good chairs in the sea as ever were caught, and it would ill
become me to deprive a gentleman of his chair when by exercising a
little energy I can gain one for myself, although I am willing to
admit that I have a slight hunger upon me. 'Tis a fine morning, sir."
He had turned pale and was edging toward the door. "'Tis at your
service, sir," he repeated in a low and frightened voice. All the
people were staring at us.
"No, good sir," I remonstrated, stepping forward to explain. "I would
not be having you think that I am unable to get a chair for myself,
since I am above everything able and swift with my hands, and it is a
small thing to get a chair for one's self and not deprive a worthy
gentleman of his own."
"I did not think to deprive you, sir," he ejaculated desperately. "The
chair is at your service, sir!"
"Plague the man!" I cried, stamping my foot impatiently; and at the
stamping of my foot a waiter let fall a dish, some women screamed,
three or four people disappeared through the door, and a venerable
gentleman arose from his seat in a corner and in a tremulous voice
said:
"Sir, let us pray you that there be no bloodshed."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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