After watching these doings for some time, I began to feel very hungry, for I had eaten hardly any thing at tea, so I told Joe that he would find me over in the great booth getting some supper, and went out. It was getting quite dark, and the stage and poles looked black and melancholy as I passed by them. But the publicans’ booths were all lighted up inside, and looked very cheerful, and were full of holiday folk, fortifying themselves with all sorts of meat and drink before starting for the descent of the hill, and the walk home in the dark. I pushed my way through the crowd round the door, and reached the bar, where the landlord recognized me directly, and handed me over to Peter, who soon landed me at the table in the recess, which was still well supplied with cold joints and bread and cheese. While he went off to get my plate and ale, I had time to look round. The booth was much gayer than the day before; every post was decked more or less with flowers and evergreens, and the flags had been brought inside. The whole place was lighted with dips and flickering oil lamps, which gave light enough to let one see all parts of the tent pretty clearly. There were a good many tables ranged about; the one nearest to ours wasn’t yet occupied, but at all the others were groups of men drinking beer, and some smoking, and talking eagerly over the events of the day. Those nearest the high table seemed under some little restraint, and spoke low; but from the farther tables rose a loud hum of the broadest Berkshire, and an occasional scrap of a song. A few women were scattered here and there--mostly middle-aged, hard-working housewives--watching their good men, and anxious to carry them off in good time, and before too much of the harvest-savings had found its way to the landlord’s till. About the entrance was a continually-changing crowd, and the atmosphere of the whole was somewhat close, and redolent of not very fragrant tobacco. At the supper-table where I was, were seven or eight men. The one just opposite me was a strong-built, middle-aged man, in a pepper-and-salt riding-coat and waistcoat, with an open, weather-beaten face, and keen, deep-set, gray eyes, who seemed bent on making a good supper. Next above him were the two Oxford scholars, but they didn’t take the least notice of me, which I thought they might have done, after our morning’s ride together. They had finished supper, and were smoking cigars, and chatting with one another, and with the pepper-and-salt man, whom they called Doctor. But my observations were soon cut short by Peter, who came back with my plate and knife and fork, and a foaming pewter of ale, and I set to work as heartily as the Doctor himself. “You’ll find some of this lettuce and watercress eat well with your beef, Sir,” said he, pushing across a dish. “Thank you, Sir,” said I; “I find that watching the games makes one very hungry.”