"Humph," says he, "you think you have a very good character, do you? Well, my lad, I should like to see it."
"Well," says I, "a character is not very easy to see, unless there is something to show it by."
"I am quite aware of that," says the landlord sharply. "However, we will leave this precious pair and go inside, light a candle and look at it."
With that, man and wife led the way within, and we followed meekly, leaving the discharged couple in the road to pursue their own devices. In what way a candle would enable them to discern our characters we could not tell, although we were half inclined to think that the common phrase "to hold a candle to" might have in fact a more literal significance than any we had dreamt of. The inn kitchen presented a rosy fire and a cosy appearance. The sight of it seemed to increase the sense of our unhappy plight, and I think we both anxiously awaited the landlord's judgment, for it was impossible to contemplate being turned out into the night again with equanimity.
"Now then, my lad," says the landlord, "I will thank you to let me see your character."
"I do not know how I can show you my character, sir," I ventured to say, "until I have been some little time in your service."
"Come, that won't do, my lad," says the landlord, "I must either see your character or out you go."
Filled with misgiving, I was about to ask the landlord for an explanation of this odd demand, when it suddenly occurred to me that he wished to have it in writing, like any other master who was about to engage a servant. I had to confess that I had not a character.
"Ha," says the landlord keenly. "Then why did you leave your last place?"
I had to confess that I had never had a last place.