After travelling upwards of two miles, Bologna inquired if they were not near their place of destination.
"Certainly," answered Mackintosh; "that is my house."
Looking in the direction pointed out, their eyes were greeted with the appearance of a small road-side public-house, in front of which hung a sign-board, bearing the words "Good entertainment for man and beast" painted on it, and beneath the name of "Mackintosh." Bologna looked at Grimaldi, and then at the public-house, and then at the man in the fustian jacket; but he was far too much engaged in contemplating with evident satisfaction the diminutive dwelling they were approaching, to regard the surprise of his companions. "Yes," he said, "that house contains the best of wines, ales, beds, tobacco, stabling, skittle-grounds, and every other luxury."
"I beg your pardon," interposed Bologna, who was evidently mortified, while Grimaldi had a strong and almost irresistible inclination to laugh, "but I thought you were not connected with business at all?"
"No more I am," said Mackintosh, with a wink; "the business belongs to mother!"
Bologna looked inexpressibly annoyed, and Grimaldi laughed outright, at which Mr. Mackintosh seemed rather pleased than otherwise, taking it to all appearance quite complimentary.
"Yes," he said, "I may be said to be a gentleman at large, for I do nothing but ride about in my carriage here," pointing to the tax-cart, "or stroll out with my gun or my fishing-rod. Mother's quite a woman of business; but as I am an only child, I suppose I shall have to look after it myself some day or other."
He remained silent a moment, and then said, touching Bologna smartly with his whip, "I suppose, old fellow, you didn't think you were coming to a public-house—eh?"
"Indeed I did not," was the sulky reply.
"Ah! I thought you'd be surprised," said Mackintosh, with a hearty laugh. "I never let my London friends know who or what I am, except they're very particular friends, like you and Joe, for instance. I just lead them to guess I'm a great man, and there I leave 'em. What does it matter what other idea strangers have about one?—But here we are, so get out of your gig; and rest assured you shall have as hearty a welcome as you'll ever get at a nobleman's house."