Meantime, Fulrake had been shown the way to his room, and entering it, sat down perfectly aghast, uttering his thoughts out loud. “Why, hang it, no better than a Norwegian log-hut—worse—earthen floor! no armchair! no toilet-table! no bell! no nothing!” “Hi, you there,” he called out, hearing some one in the next apartment.
And a man in moleskin trousers, and flannel shirt with sleeves tucked up, appeared at his summons.
“I want a warm bath, and my things put out, and a dressing-table, and above all a glass.”
“All right,” said Mat, for he it was, “I’ll speak to the squire, a glass of what shall I tell him, he only keeps whisky.”
“Idiot,” was on Fulrake’s lips, but on second thoughts, he said, “a looking-glass, please.”
“Queer place and queer people,” he muttered, as Mat disappeared. “What a rummy sort of flunky! and who on earth is the squire, I wonder?”
However, as Bell never appeared, he had to unpack his boxes himself, and after much hunting and bad language, got out his dress clothes, but without the aid of a looking-glass he could neither arrange his moustaches nor put on his tie.
“The bath I’ll go without for once,” he said, “but a glass I must, and will have.”
After considerable searching, he found the segment of a looking-glass containing a minimum degree of quicksilver; and finally he reached the house as the family were sitting down to supper.
Upon arriving in the room, he was introduced to Parson Tabor, Tom, and Mat, with all of whom he exchanged bows.