Just. You may let that man know, William, that I have dispatched my own business, and am at leisure for his now (taking a pinch of snuff). Hum! pray, William (Justice leans back gravely), what sort of a looking fellow is he, pray?
Will. Most like a sort of travelling man, in my opinion, sir—or something that way, I take it.
(At these words the landlady turns round inquisitively, and delays, that she may listen, while she is putting on and pinning her shawl.)
Just. Hum! a sort of a travelling man. Hum! lay my books out open at the title Vagrant; and, William, tell the cook that Mrs. Bustle promises me the goose-pie for dinner. Four o’clock, do you hear? And show the old man in now.
(The Landlady looks eagerly towards the door, as it opens, and exclaims,)
Land. My old gentleman, as I hope to breathe!
Enter the Old Man.
(Lucy follows the Old Man on tiptoe—The Justice leans back and looks consequential—The Landlady sets her arms akimbo—The Old Man starts as he sees her.)
Just. What stops you, friend? Come forward, if you please.
Land. (advancing). So, sir, is it you, sir? Ay, you little thought, I warrant ye, to meet me here with his worship; but there you reckoned without your host—Out of the frying-pan into the fire.