'Here's a gentleman's come in to ask where he can dry himself.'
'What sort of a gentleman?'
'I don't know. With a dog and a gun.'
A bedstead creaked in the next room. The door opened, and there came in a stout, short man of fifty, with a bull neck, goggle-eyes, extraordinarily round cheeks, and his whole face positively shining with sleekness.
'What is it you wish?' he asked me.
'To dry my things.'
'There's no place here.'
'I didn't know this was the counting-house; I am willing, though, to pay…'
'Well, perhaps it could be managed here,' rejoined the fat man; 'won't you come inside here?' (He led me into another room, but not the one he had come from.) 'Would this do for you?'
'Very well…. And could I have tea and milk?'