“The small places you have in mind,” spoke the lean-faced landlord, “are very much unlike this one, then. We have not enough patronage to hire a hostler, even though we are on a highroad to the city.”
“And the villain told us that he were patronized by all,” whispered Paddy Burk, indignantly. “Faith, I thought it strange that he could get so many into one cobwebby room.”
Ben pressed his arm for silence, for Hawkins was speaking.
“You will pardon the liberty I take,” said the man, “but I would not say that you were very well off.”
“If you did say so,” spoke the landlord, “you would be saying what had never a grain of truth in it.”
Hawkins laughed; never for a moment did his hard eyes leave the face of the other.
“It is seldom, I suppose,” he went on, “that any one comes along who gives you the opportunity to lay something by.”
“They never come,” declared the man, sourly. “For the most part, our patrons are like those two,” and his finger pointed upward. “Nothing but a lodging; not a crumb did they eat between them.”
Hawkins clicked his tongue as though greatly in sympathy with the host.
“You can make no great progress at that rate,” said he.