Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
The room had only one occupant; he, a gentleman who sat at his ease,
waiting for his supper in a chair by the brisk fire. He was a
wonderfully handsome man, young, bold-eyed, and with a look of gay
impudence more winning than displeasing. He threw up his eyes as soon
as we entered and frankly took our measure. He went over us from top
to toe with the frank audacity of a pretty woman or a child. He was
plainly a little puzzled by us. He could not reconcile our appearance
with our address. We must indeed have looked to a stranger at that
moment the most draggle-tailed couple that ever came out of Bridewell.
But we had got all our best town airs about us too, and the contrast
between our state and our address must have been ludicrous, truly.
We had hardly got in to the room ere the landlord came bustling
forward. His mode of assessing the character of his guests was more
peremptory. We were in a wretched plight, and had come afoot without
baggage and unattended. He gave us one shrewd contemptuous glance and
says:
"You are come to the wrong house, are you not, master? The Chequers, a
bit further along the road to your left, is more in your style, I'm
thinking. The quality comes to this house, dy'e see?"
"God bless my soul," I roared, "was there ever such effrontery! Why,
you pot-bellied ruffian, I would knock you down as flat as your own ale
were it not for fatigue and the presence of a lady. The wrong house,
is it? Do you take us for a pair of pickers and stealers then, you
beer-barrel! Call a chambermaid this minute and have her ladyship
taken to the best bedroom you have got in the place, or I will rub my
boots into the small of your fat back, upon mine honour so I will."
A less forcible method of address might have permitted of a
controversy, in which we should have everything to lose and nothing
whatever to gain. But this fine assault, this taking of the landlord
by storm, completely disarmed him. In an instant his demeanour
completely changed, as is usual with those of his kidney. From the
contemptuous critic he was transformed into the grovelling lackey. On
the instant he was ours to command. With many bows and congees he was
soon inquiring what we would have for supper, and which wine we would
prefer. He also presumed that our luggage and attendants would
presently arrive.
"Devil a bit of it," says I. "Neither one nor the other will you see
this night. Our wretched rogues have had such a fright that I will bet
my leg they never draw rein until they make the blessed town o' London.
A murrain upon them, and may they die of a vertigo!"
The landlord clasped his palms in a fine attitude of humility,
curiosity and awe.
"Lord save us!" says he, "what can have happened to your lordship?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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