Old Horn (the “blower” always being left out in common discourse) was very much mistaken; the new arrivals were none other than six thief-takers, and as big rogues and rascals as ever straddled horses, or swaggered about with swords at their heels. They were dressed in their best, however, and seemed very flush of money; how they got it will be seen hereafter. They rang the bells loudly, shouted and swore right and left until old Horn and his servants were almost driven mad. “Who be they?” asked the ostler. “Don’t know, lad; but suppose they’re very great folks.” “They ride good nags, anyhow.” “And kick up a darned big fuss, too. Can’t ye hear ’em?” “They be Londoners,” said the housemaid; “I can tell by their talk, and they allers do make a noise when they goes in the country.” “What do they want down here, I wonder?” “Can’t tell; but they ask for the best beds in the inn, and the best wine in the cellar, so they mun have plenty of money.” While the servants were thus talking among themselves the old landlord and his kitchen domestics were busy in providing supper for the hungry travellers. “Boots” was nearly run off his legs, and didn’t know what to do first. He became confused, and forgot half of what he was told. “Here, lad,” said one, “bring me some brandy. Quick. Hot, mind!” “Brandy, sir, yes, sir. Hot sir? With or without? Just so, sir. Brandy hot without, sir? Thank’ee, sir.” And off he shot. But before he had fairly closed the door, “Here! hi! waiter! quick!” said another. “Mulled port for me. Quick, for your life! I’m almost frozen to death!” “Port, sir? Yes, sir. Mulled, sir? Thank’ee, sir.” Off he went; but the bell was rung violently again. “Here! hi! waiter!” “Come here, lad!” “_I_ want you, do you hear?” “Serve _me_ first.” “No; _I_ gave my order first.” “No you didn’t.” “Spiced ale.” “Bring me a chop in less than five minutes, or I’ll cut your head off!” “My brandy and water, you idiot!” “If my hot spiced ale doesn’t appear in three minutes by the clock, I’ll blow the rascal’s brains out.” “Will you never let me have my brandy and water, you villain?” “Cut the rascal’s ear off.” “How’s my horse getting on?” “Let my bed be warmed.” “Not mine, stupid; his, mind.” “Where’s the landlord?” “Brandy!” “Ale!” “Rum!” “Bottle of wine!” “Beefsteaks!” “A chop for me!” “Clean my boots!” “See to my horse!” “Long pipes!” “Stir up this fire!” “Put more coals on!” “How long’s supper going to be?” These and such-like orders rung in the bewildered ears of Nat the boots. He rushed hither and thither like a wild man all of a sweat. He forgot half his orders, and so mixed up the others that he was kicked and cuffed about like a foot-ball by the noisy and by no means polite strangers. Take them altogether this half-dozen were as ugly and as villanous-looking a lot as could be well met with anywhere. They all had the marks of rogues and cut-throats engraven on their countenances.