Salterne himself opened it, with his usual stern courtesy.
“I saw you coming up the street, sir. I have been expecting this honor from you for some time past. I dreamt of you only last night, and many a night before that too. Welcome, sir, into a lonely house. I trust the good knight your general is well.”
“The good knight my general is with God who made him, Mr. Salterne.”
“Dead, sir?”
“Foundered at sea on our way home; and the Delight lost too.”
“Humph!” growled Salterne, after a minute's silence. “I had a venture in her. I suppose it's gone. No matter—I can afford it, sir, and more, I trust. And he was three years younger than I! And Draper Heard was buried yesterday, five years younger.—How is it that every one can die, except me? Come in, sir, come in; I have forgotten my manners.”
And he led Amyas into his parlor, and called to the apprentices to run one way, and to the cook to run another.
“You must not trouble yourself to get me supper, indeed.”
“I must though, sir, and the best of wine too; and old Salterne had a good tap of Alicant in old time, old time, old time, sir! and you must drink it now, whether he does or not!” and out he bustled.
Amyas sat still, wondering what was coming next, and puzzled at the sudden hilarity of the man, as well as his hospitality, so different from what the innkeeper had led him to expect.