'I will. Yes, I certainly will. But there's something I should like to ask you about first, Miss Fouracres. I'm thinking of staying in this part of the country through the holidays'—long ago he had made known his position—'and it has struck me that perhaps I could lodge here. Could you let me have a room? Just a bedroom would be enough.'
'Why, yes, sir,' replied the landlord's daughter. 'We have two bedrooms, you know, and I've no doubt my father would be willing to arrange with you.'
'Ah, then I'll mention it to him. Is he in very low spirits?'
'He's unusual low to-day, sir. I shouldn't wonder if it did him good to see you, and talk a bit.'
Having finished his ginger-beer, Mr. Ruddiman walked through the house and passed out into the garden, where he at once became aware of Mr. Fouracres. The landlord, a man of sixty, with grizzled hair and large, heavy countenance, sat in a rustic chair under an apple-tree; beside him was a little table, on which stood a bottle of whisky and a glass. Approaching, Mr. Ruddiman saw reason to suspect that the landlord had partaken too freely of the refreshment ready to his hand. Mr. Fouracres' person was in a limp state; his cheeks were very highly coloured, and his head kept nodding as he muttered to himself. At the visitor's greeting he looked up with a sudden surprise, as though he resented an intrusion on his privacy.
'It's very hot, Mr. Fouracres,' the under-master went on to remark with cordiality.
'Hot? I dare say it is,' replied the landlord severely. 'And what else do you expect at this time of the year, sir?'
'Just so, Mr. Fouracres, just so!' said the other, as good-humouredly as possible. 'You don't find it unpleasant?'
'Why should I, sir? It was a good deal hotter day than this when His Royal
Highness called upon me; a good deal hotter. The Prince didn't complain;
not he. He said to me—I'm speaking of His Royal Highness, you understand;
I hope you understand that, sir?'
'Oh, perfectly!'