CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH THE STORY RETURNS TO WALTER AND THE CORPORAL.—THE
RENCONTRE WITH A STRANGER, AND HOW THE STRANGER PROVES TO BE
NOT ALTOGETHER A STRANGER.
Being got out of town in the road to Penaflor, master of my own
action, and forty good ducats; the first thing I did was to
give my mule her head, and to go at what pace she pleased.
.............
I left them in the inn, and continued my journey; I was hardly
got half-a-mile farther, when I met a cavalier very genteel,
—Gil Blas.
It was broad and sunny noon on the second day of their journey, as Walter Lester, and the valorous attendant with whom it had pleased Fate to endow him, rode slowly into a small town in which the Corporal in his own heart, had resolved to bait his roman-nosed horse and refresh himself. Two comely inns had the younger traveller of the twain already passed with an indifferent air, as if neither bait nor refreshment made any part of the necessary concerns of this habitable world. And in passing each of the said hostelries, the roman-nosed horse had uttered a snort of indignant surprise, and the worthy Corporal had responded to the quadrupedal remonstrance by a loud hem. It seemed, however, that Walter heard neither of the above significant admonitions; and now the town was nearly passed, and a steep hill that seemed winding away into eternity, already presented itself to the rueful gaze of the Corporal.
“The boy’s clean mad,” grunted Bunting to himself—“must do my duty to him—give him a hint.”
Pursuant to this notable and conscientious determination, Bunting jogged his horse into a trot, and coming alongside of Walter, put his hand to his hat and said:
“Weather warm, your honour—horses knocked up—next town far as hell!—halt a bit here—augh!”
“Ha! that is very true, Bunting; I had quite forgotten the length of our journey. But see, there is a sign-post yonder, we will take advantage of it.”
“Augh! and your honour’s right—fit for the forty-second;” said the Corporal, falling back; and in a few moments he and his charger found themselves, to their mutual delight, entering the yard of a small, but comfortable-looking inn.
The Host, a man of a capacious stomach and a rosy cheek—in short, a host whom your heart warms to see, stepped forth immediately, held the stirrup for the young Squire, (for the Corporal’s movements were too stately to be rapid,) and ushered him with a bow, a smile, and a flourish of his napkin, into one of those little quaint rooms, with cupboards bright with high glasses and old china, that it pleases us still to find extant in the old-fashioned inns, in our remoter roads and less Londonized districts.
Mine host was an honest fellow, and not above his profession; he stirred the fire, dusted the table, brought the bill of fare, and a newspaper seven days old, and then bustled away to order the dinner and chat with the Corporal. That accomplished hero had already thrown the stables into commotion, and frightening the two ostlers from their attendance on the steeds of more peaceable men, had set them both at leading his own horse and his master’s to and fro’ the yard, to be cooled into comfort and appetite.