"Well, sir, if you should prefer a good rump steak and a cup of tea, I could recommend——"
"Verily, friend," again interrupted the quaker, "thou comprehendest me not, for neither doth my soul hanker after the fleshpots of Egypt, but having a taste for antiquarian lore, I would fain revisit that spot of historic interest once seen in my youth, but of which I have now no clear recollection, namely the hostel of the 'Headless Lady.'"
"''Eadless Lady'! ''Eadless Lady'! Why, God bless my soul, sir, where hever do you 'ail from? Why, now I come to think of it, I remember to have 'eerd my grandfather speak of it. Lor, sir, it's been burnt down this 'alf a century ago."
"Burnt down!" exclaimed the antiquary, in extreme vexation.
"Yessir," replied the porter, briskly, "burnt down by the landlord hisself, when in his cups, as I've heered say—down to the wery ground. There, sir, is the spot, where I'm p'inting. Yessir, that's where it stood. This here line runs right bang over the wery site of it."
"Bless me!" cried the disappointed quaker in dismay, "and have I left my peaceful home, that I havn't stirred out of for years to hear this? Verily, all is vanity."
Here he would have begun a homily on the evils of intemperance, had not the guard interrupted him with:
"Yessir, I remember to have 'eerd my grandfather say, when I was a kid, on'y so high" (here he lowered the palm of his hand to within a couple of feet of the platform), "as 'ow the 'ouse was 'aunted by the ghost of a nun, as valked about vith 'er 'ead hunder 'er harm, but that's a long while ago, that is. No, sir, you may depend upon it, there hain't no 'eadless ladies valking about now, sir. Ve don't believe in 'em nowadays."
With this, he took up a rasping iron bell, which he rang so vigorously that the peaceful quaker was fain to stop his ears and hurry from the spot as fast as his legs could carry him.
"Poor old gent," muttered the porter, to himself, as he looked after him, "'e hain't hup to date, no 'ow."