The stranger, dividing his time between his meal and a newspaper,—which he devoured more eagerly than the viands before him,—paid no attention to Forester's entrance; nor did he once look round. As the waiter approached, he asked hastily, “What chance there was of getting forward?”
“Indeed, sir, to tell the truth,” drawled out the man, “the storm seems getting worse, instead of better. Miles Finerty's new house, at the end of the street, is just blown down.”
“Never mind Miles Finerty, my good friend, for the present,” rejoined the old gentleman, mildly, “but just tell me, are horses to be had?”
“Faith! and to tell your honor no lie, I 'm afraid of it.” Here he dropped to a whisper. “The sick-looking gentleman, yonder, has four waiting for him, since nine o'clock; and we 've only a lame mare and a pony in the stable.”
“Am I never to get this bill?” cried out Forester, in a tone that illness had rendered peculiarly querulous. “I have asked, begged for it, for above an hour, and here I am still.”
“He's bringing it now, sir,” cried the waiter, stepping hastily out of the room, to avoid further questioning. Forester, whose impatience had now been carried beyond endurance, paced the room with hurried strides, muttering, between his teeth, every possible malediction on the whole race of innkeepers, barmaids, waiters,—even down to Boots himself. These imprecating expressions had gradually assumed a louder and more vehement tone, of which he was by no means aware, till the old gentleman, at the pause of a somewhat wordy denunciation, gravely added,—
“Insert a clause upon postboys, sir, and I 'll second the measure.”
Forester wheeled abruptly round. He belonged to a class, a section of society, whose cherished prestige is neither to address nor be addressed by an unintroduced stranger; and had the speaker been younger, or of any age more nearly his own, it is more than likely a very vague stare of cool astonishment would have been his only acknowledgment of the speech. The advanced age, and something in the very accent of the stranger, were, however, guarantees against this conventional rudeness, and he remarked, with a smile, “I have no objection to extend the provisions of my bill in the way you propose, for perhaps half an hour's experience may teach me how much they deserve it.”
“You are fortunate, however, to have secured horses. I perceive that the stables are empty.”
“If you are pressed for time, sir,” said Forester, on whom the quiet, well-bred manners of the stranger produced a strong impression, “it would be a very churlish thing of me to travel with four horses while I can spare a pair of them.”