No one was visible, and George called loudly as he pulled up at the door:
“Ho, the house! Landlord!”
From somewhere in the rear, a sharp-faced woman made her appearance. She was very tall and angular, her movements were awkward, and when she spoke her voice was high.
“Hoighty toity!” she cried, “and must we make all this noise at a decent inn? What is your wish, young man?”
“I’ll have some one take my horse, mistress,” replied George, “and I desire him rubbed and given a good feed of clean grain.”
The woman turned toward the barn and called shrilly:
“Job!”
She had repeated the cry several times before there was any response; then a man came out of the barn, rubbing his eyes and shuffling his feet.
“You’ve been asleep again,” charged the woman. “You are the most idle, good-for-nothing rascal in Harlem, I really believe.”
The man blinked ill-humoredly. “Fair words, Mistress Trout,” spoke he. “They go farther than the other sort.”