So we went on till we came to another hotel. That was a very nice hotel, too, and it had honey-suckle on it, round at the side; but Harris did not like the look of a man who was leaning against the front door. He said he didn’t look a nice man at all, and he wore ugly boots: so we went on further. We went a goodish way without coming across any more hotels, and then we met a man, and asked him to direct us to a few.
He said:
“Why, you are coming away from them. You must turn right round and go back, and then you will come to the Stag.”
We said:
“Oh, we had been there, and didn’t like it—no honeysuckle over it.”
“Well, then,” he said, “there’s the Manor House, just opposite. Have you tried that?”
Harris replied that we did not want to go there—didn’t like the looks of a man who was stopping there—Harris did not like the colour of his hair, didn’t like his boots, either.
“Well, I don’t know what you’ll do, I’m sure,” said our informant; “because they are the only two inns in the place.”
“No other inns!” exclaimed Harris.
“None,” replied the man.