Nothing more entirely differing from either of these anticipations could have presented itself to my view than what I saw about one o’clock in the afternoon, when I entered the house. I had come, though somewhat in want of consolation myself, to offer any consolation which was at my command to my acquaintance Catchpole, and perhaps like many other people who go to a house with “drops of compassion trembling on their eyelids,” I felt rather disappointed at finding that no compassion was necessary. The house was thronged with company; the cries for ale and porter, hot brandy and water, cold gin and water, were numerous; moreover, no desire to receive and not to pay for the landlord’s liquids was manifested—on the contrary, everybody seemed disposed to play the most honourable part: “Landlord, here’s the money for this glass of brandy and water—do me the favour to take it; all right, remember I have paid you.” “Landlord, here’s the money for the pint of half-and-half—fourpence halfpenny, ain’t it?—here’s sixpence; keep the change—confound the change!” The landlord, assisted by his niece, bustled about, his brow erect, his cheeks plumped out, and all his features exhibiting a kind of surly satisfaction. Wherever he moved, marks of the most cordial amity were shown him, hands were thrust out to grasp his, nor were looks of respect, admiration, nay, almost of adoration, wanting. I observed one fellow, as the landlord advanced, take the pipe out of his mouth, and gaze upon him with a kind of grin of wonder, probably much the same as his ancestor, the Saxon lout of old, put on when he saw his idol Thur, dressed in a new kirtle. To avoid the press, I got into a corner, where on a couple of chairs sat two respectable-looking individuals, whether farmers or sow-gelders, I know not, but highly respectable-looking, who were discoursing about the landlord. “Such another,” said one, “you will not find in a summer’s day.” “No, nor in the whole of England,” said the other. “Tom of Hopton,” said the first: “ah! Tom of Hopton,” echoed the other; “the man who could beat Tom of Hopton could beat the world.” “I glory in him,” said the first. “So do I,” said the second; “I’ll back him against the world. Let me hear any one say anything against him, and if I don’t—” then, looking at me, he added: “Have you anything to say against him, young man?” “Not a word,” said I, “save that he regularly puts me out.” “He’ll put any one out,” said the man, “any one out of conceit with himself;” then, lifting a mug to his mouth, he added, with a hiccough, “I drink his health.” Presently the landlord, as he moved about, observing me, stopped short: “Ah!” said he, “are you here? I am glad to see you, come this way.” “Stand back,” said he to his company, as I followed him to the bar, “stand back for me and this gentleman.” Two or three young fellows were in the bar, seemingly sporting yokels, drinking sherry and smoking.