The landlord had driven from his establishment the future king of the French, and his brother, because they wanted a private apartment to dine in.
The common version that the Duke was personally assaulted, and turned out, is a mere fiction—our own account is the proper and true one.
So Bousch's Tavern was only fated to be historical, when Mr. Jinks
approached it—that character having not yet been attached to it.
Whether the absence of such associations affected the larder in Mr.
Jinks' opinion, we cannot say—probably not, however.
Certain is it that Jinks entered with dignity, and accosted the fat, ruddy, German landlord, Mr. Bousch, and proceeding to do what a quarter of a century afterwards a Duke imitated him in, asked for a private chamber. Mr. Bousch seemed to see nothing improper in this request, and even smiled an assent when Jinks, still scowling, requested that a measure of Jamaica rum might be dispatched before him, to his chamber.
Jinks then strolled out to the pathway before the tavern, and looked around him.
Suddenly there came out of the stable yard a young man, mounted on a shaggy horse, which young man was clad in a forest costume, and held a rifle in his hand.
Jinks directed a terrible glance toward him, and started forward.
As the horseman came out of the gateway, he found the road obstructed by Mr. Jinks, whose drawn sword was in his hand.
"Back! rash youth!" cried Jinks, with terrible emphasis, "or this sword shall split thy carcass—back!"
And the speaker flashed the sword so near to Cloud's eyes that he tossed up his head and nearly reared.