MacNaghten, therefore, contented himself with some commonplace remarks about the country around and the road they were walking, when Curtis came to a sudden halt, and said,—
“You would n't take the offer, I 'll be sworn. You 'd say at once: 'Show me what rights I 'm surrendering; let me know the terms of the agreement.' But what signifies all that at my age?—the last of the stock besides! If I lay by what will pay the undertaker, it's all the world has a right to demand at my hands.”
“Here's 'The Friar,'—this is our inn,” said MacNaghten. “Shall I be the caterer, eh? What say you to some fried fish and a glass of Madeira, to begin with?”
“I 'll have a breakfast, sir, that suits my condition,” said Curtis, haughtily. “Send the landlord here for my orders.”
“Here's our man, then,” said MacNaghten, humoring the whim, as he pushed the innkeeper towards him.
“What's your name, my good fellow?” asked Curtis, with a supercilious look at the short but well-conditioned figure before him.
“Billy Mathews, sir,” said the other, with difficulty restraining a smile at the dilapidated look of his interrogator.
“Well, Mathews, keep the Billy for your equals, my good friend. Mathews, I say, let us have the best your house affords, served in your best room and in your best manner. If I ate prison fare for nine weeks, sir, it is no reason that I am not accustomed to something different. My name is Joseph Curtis, of Meagh-valley House; I sat in Parliament for eight-and-twenty years, for the borough of Kilternon; and I was tried for a murder at the last commission. There, sir! it's not every day you have a guest who can say as much.”
As the landlord was moving away to give his orders, Curtis called out once more:—
“Stay, sir; hear me out. There are spies of the Castle wherever I go. Who have you here just now? Who's in this house?”