"Humph!" said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a sulky glance at the
stranger.
"Der duyvel!" said the fat little distiller of Schiedam.
The landlord saw with the quick glance of a publican that the new guest
was not at all, at all, to the taste of the old ones; and to tell the
truth, he did not himself like my grandfather's saucy eye.
He shook his head--"Not a garret in the house but was full."
"Not a garret!" echoed the landlady.
"Not a garret!" echoed the daughter.
The burgher of Antwerp and the little distiller of Schiedam continued
to smoke their pipes sullenly, eyed the enemy askance from under their
broad hats, but said nothing.
My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. He threw the reins on
his horse's neck, cocked his hat on one side, stuck one arm akimbo,
slapped his broad thigh with the other hand--
"Faith and troth!" said he, "but I'll sleep in this house this very
night!"
My grandfather had on a tight pair of buckskins--the slap went to the
landlady's heart.
He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and making his way
past the staring Mynheers into the public room. May be you've been in
the barroom of an old Flemish inn--faith, but a handsome chamber it was
as you'd wish to see; with a brick floor, a great fire-place, with the
whole Bible history in glazed tiles; and then the mantel-piece,
pitching itself head foremost out of the wall, with a whole regiment of
cracked tea-pots and earthen jugs paraded on it; not to mention half a
dozen great Delft platters hung about the room by way of pictures; and
the little bar in one corner, and the bouncing bar-maid inside of it
with a red calico cap and yellow ear-drops.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48