"I suppose we'll have to put up with that accommodation, then. What do you say, Boy?" I asked.
"I would rather go on," he replied, in a tone of misery tempered by desperate resignation, as if he had been giving orders for his own funeral.
"Go on where?" I enquired grimly.
"I don't know. Anywhere."
"'Anywhere' means in this instance the open road."
"Well—I'm not so very cold, are you? And I'm sure they'll give us a little bread and cheese here."
"I think it would be wiser to stop," said I. "We might see the ghost of Napoleon eating the déjeuner. Isn't that an inducement?"
"Not enough."
"I assure you that I don't snore or howl in my sleep. And you could have the sofa to curl up on."
"Ye-es; but I'd rather go on. You and Joseph can stop. Innocentina and I will be all right."