“He had no objection to tea; but he used to say, ‘Everything in its season.’ Shall we take ours now—I have waited for you.”
“I have no objection,” said I; “I feel rather heated, and at present should prefer tea to ale—‘Everything in its season,’ as the surgeon said.”
Thereupon Belle prepared tea, and, as we were taking it, she said, “What did you see and hear at the public-house?”
“Really,” said I, “you appear to have your full portion of curiosity; what matters it to you what I saw and heard at the public-house?”
“It matters very little to me,” said Belle; “I merely inquired of you, for the sake of a little conversation—you were silent, and it is uncomfortable for two people to sit together without opening their lips—at least I think so.”
“One only feels uncomfortable,” said I, “in being silent, when one happens to be thinking of the individual with whom one is in company. To tell you the truth, I was not thinking of my companion, but of certain company with whom I had been at the public-house.”
“Really, young man,” said Belle, “you are not over complimentary; but who may this wonderful company have been—some young—?” and here Belle stopped.
“No,” said I, “there was no young person—if person you were going to say. There was a big portly landlord, whom I dare say you have seen; a noisy savage Radical, who wanted at first to fasten upon me a quarrel about America, but who subsequently drew in his horns; then there was a strange fellow, a prowling priest, I believe, whom I have frequently heard of, who at first seemed disposed to side with the Radical against me, and afterwards with me against the Radical. There, you know my company, and what took place.”
“Was there no one else?” said Belle.
“You are mighty curious,” said I. “No, none else, except a poor simple mechanic, and some common company, who soon went away.”