And so with great good humor he fell to and proved to be a worthy trencherman. Revere, eating generously of his own supper, watched their neighbor in high admiration. At length he said:
“It is not at every inn one finds such excellent fare, sir.”
“Right!” and the stranger saluted him with his knife. “Right, sir. And that is why I was suspicious at the off-start. But,” and he bowed to the now gratified hostess with great politeness, “I shall always remember the town of Bristol. I shall write the name large in the records of my experiences, because it is a place that possesses an inn where a gentleman can dine.”
As he was speaking the door opened and a newcomer made his appearance. At sight of the small gold rings in his ears, the pack upon his back and the heavy oaken staff in his hand, Nat Brewster recognized him as the stranger to whom the Porcupine had talked on the road. He was a swarthy looking fellow and decidedly like a gypsy, as the dwarf had said; but there was a roll to his gait and an air about him that would have told an experienced observer that he was no stranger to the sea.
“I would like accommodations, madam,” said he to the landlady, and there was a foreign blur of some sort that spoiled the distinctness of his speech.
“Supper, a bed and breakfast, I suppose,” said the woman, very brisk and businesslike. Foot travelers were never very profitable as a rule, and she did not waste much time upon them.
“If you please,” said the dark man. He threw down his knapsack and stood the staff in a corner. “And as I am hungry I should like my supper as soon as you can give it to me.”
“I shall have to lay another cloth,” said the landlady, with the air of one who does not altogether like a task. “I would that you had come sooner, sir.”
“I am sorry to be troublesome,” said the other, civilly enough; but for all, Nat saw a look in his piercing black eyes that gave the lie to his words.
The tall stranger had been quietly listening to this dialogue with a careless air. But now he arose.