“Well,” said Mrs Carey, “I didn’t think there was so much spirit in the place. As Chaffing Jack was saying the other day—”
“There is no spirit in the place,” said Devilsdust, “but we mean to infuse some. Some of our friends are going to pay you a visit to-morrow.”
“And who may they be?” said Caroline.
“To-morrow is Sunday,” said Devilsdust, “and the miners mean to say their prayers in Mowbray Church.”
“Well, that will be a shindy!” said Caroline.
“It’s a true bill, though,” said Mick. “This time to-morrow you will have ten thousand of them in this town, and if every mill and work in it and ten mile round is not stopped, my name is not MICK RADLEY!”
Book 6 Chapter 9
It was Monday morning. Hatton, enveloped in his chamber robe and wearing his velvet cap, was lounging in the best room of the principal commercial inn of Mowbray, over a breakfast table covered with all the delicacies of which a northern matin meal may justly boast. There were pies of spiced meat and trout fresh from the stream, hams that Westphalia never equalled, pyramids of bread of every form and flavour adapted to the surrounding fruits, some conserved with curious art, and some just gathered from the bed or from the tree.
“It’s very odd,” said Hatton to his companion Morley, “you can’t get coffee anywhere.”