"Well, needs must, I s'pose," grumbled the servant. "I'll go up and wake the captain, and be cursed horrible for my pains. Who shall I say wants him?"
"Tell un a friend from the country."
The porter went into the inn, and soon reappeared in the gallery at the top of the house, where he tapped at the door of one of the bedrooms opening from it. He tapped once, twice, thrice, and received no answer; then to his fourth knock came a response the tone of which, though not the words, could be heard in the yard below. A colloquy ensued, of which only the share of the inn servant was distinctly audible to Sherebiah.
"A man from the country, Cap'n, to see you."
Mumble from within.
"So I told him, but here he bides."
More mumbling.
"Didn't tell me his name; a man from the country was all he said, and I knows no more."
The answering mumble was of higher and impatient mood. Then the man came slowly downstairs, grumbling under his breath all the way.
"You're to go up," he said to the stranger. "'Tis number thirty-two. And fine tantrums he be in, waked out of sleep; as if I ain't waked out of sleep or kept from it day and night, and all year long."