He was tall, stout, and well made; dressed with neatness and precision,
wore a travelling-cap of the color of gingerbread, and had rather an
unhappy expression about the corners of his mouth; partly from not
having yet made his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get
on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that he had any
other cause for haste than an Englishman's usual hurry to get to the
end of a journey; or, to use the regular phrase, "to get on."
After some time the servant returned from the stable with as sour a
look as his master.
"Are the horses ready, John?"
"No, sir--I never saw such a place. There's no getting anything done. I
think your honor had better step into the house and get something to
eat; it will be a long while before we get to Fundy."
"D--n the house--it's a mere trick--I'll not eat anything, just to
spite them," said the Englishman, still more crusty at the prospect of
being so long without his dinner.
"They say your honor's very wrong," said John, "to set off at this late
hour. The road's full of highwaymen."
"Mere tales to get custom."
"The estafette which passed us was stopped by a whole gang," said John,
increasing his emphasis with each additional piece of information.
"I don't believe a word of it."
"They robbed him of his breeches," said John, giving at the same time a
hitch to his own waist-band.
"All humbug!"
Here the dark, handsome young man stepped forward and addressing the
Englishman very politely in broken English, invited him to partake of a
repast he was about to make.
Pages:
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256