“Ah, you know a thing or two, Mr. Deacon, I can see that,” replied the landlord with a knowing wink. “I’ve got a rare drop of brandy put away in the cellar. I never had only six bottles of it, and there’s still four left. My customers don’t hardly ever ask for it, it’s mostly beer or whiskey with them. Unless it happens to be a gentleman from London like yourself, sir.”
He disappeared, and returned in a few moments with a long-necked bottle, from which he poured a glass of pale amber liquid. “There, just try that, sir,” he exclaimed proudly.
The Professor picked up the glass and sampled the contents gravely. “Excellent, very excellent indeed!” he commented approvingly. “I am quite sure that my doctor would have prescribed this as part of the cure, had he known of it.”
“Cure, sir?” enquired the landlord sympathetically. “I hope the illness has not been serious?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” replied the Professor. “One could scarcely call it an illness. I have been rather run down, that is all. Men of my age have to take care of themselves, you know, and I have been devoting rather more time and energy than was perhaps wise to my business in the City. I found myself suffering from headaches and loss of appetite, so my doctor ordered me a complete rest. He said it was the only thing to set me up again.”
“Well, here’s your very good health, sir,” said the landlord, tossing off his gin. “You couldn’t have come to a better place than this for a rest. I was afraid, when you comes in, that you’d find it too quiet at this time of year. I says to myself, ‘Here’s a gentleman from London who’ll be looking for a band and a promenade and what not?’ Why, sir, there isn’t even a sharry running at this season.”
“That fact adds another attraction to your most comfortable house,” replied the Professor. “It was my doctor who recommended me to come here. He motored through on his way to Swanage last year. He recommends me to take a fairly long walk after every meal. I understand that you have some very beautiful heaths around here?”
“They may be beautiful, but they’re precious lonely,” said the landlord. “They may suit you all right, sir, but for my part I take the bus into Wareham or Swanage when I wants to get out for a bit.”
“I shall not be sorry to enjoy the loneliness of the countryside, after the bustle of London,” replied the Professor. “But I suppose people do live on these heaths, do they not?”
“Well, there’s a few clay pits, and now and then a gravel quarry,” said the landlord. “But, take it all round, you can walk a long way without meeting a living soul, so long as you keep off the main road. It is like that all over Purbeck, whichever way you go. Of course, there’s a few cottages where the clay-workers live, but that is about all, outside the villages, and there ain’t many of them.”