“Why do you suppose me a commercial gent?” said I. “Do I look one?”
“Can’t say you do much,” said Mrs. Pritchard; “you have no rings on your fingers, nor a gilt chain at your waistcoat-pocket, but when you said ‘box Harry,’ I naturally took you to be one of the commercial gents, for when I was at Liverpool I was told that that was a word of theirs.”
“I believe the word properly belongs to them,” said I. “I am not one of them; but I learnt it from them, a great many years ago, when I was much amongst them. Those whose employers were in a small way of business, or allowed them insufficient salaries, frequently used to ‘box Harry,’ that is have a beef-steak, or mutton-chop, or perhaps bacon and eggs, as I am going to have, along with tea and ale instead of the regular dinner of a commercial gentleman, namely, fish, hot joint and fowl, pint of sherry, tart, ale and cheese, and bottle of old port, at the end of all.”
Having made arrangements for “boxing Harry” I went into the tap-room, from which I had heard the voice of Mr. Pritchard proceeding during the whole of my conversation with his wife. Here I found the worthy landlord seated with a single customer; both were smoking. The customer instantly arrested my attention. He was a man seemingly about forty years of age with a broad red face, with certain somethings, looking very much like incipient carbuncles, here and there upon it. His eyes were grey and looked rather as if they squinted; his mouth was very wide, and when it opened displayed a set of strong white, uneven teeth. He was dressed in a pepper-and-salt coat of the Newmarket cut, breeches of corduroy and brown top boots, and had on his head a broad, black, coarse, low-crowned hat. In his left hand he held a heavy white whale-bone whip with a brass head. I sat down on a bench nearly opposite to him and the landlord.
“Well,” said Mr. Pritchard; “did you find your way to Llanfair?”
“Yes,” said I.
“And did you execute the business satisfactorily which led you there?” said Mr. Pritchard.
“Perfectly,” said I.
“Well, what did you give a stone for your live pork?” said his companion glancing up at me, and speaking in a gruff voice.
“I did not buy any live pork,” said I; “do you take me for a pig-jobber?”