Striding haughtily into the place, the beef-eaters accosted the landlord familiarly.
“My good fellow,” said little Pike, “be kind enough to let the Sachem know that we have arrived and wait upon his pleasure.”
“And assure him of the excellence of our health,” said Halberd.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said the landlord, eying the pair suspiciously and cudgeling his brains to remember where and when he had seen them before. “I have no Mr. Sachem in the house.”
“He has no Mr. Sachem in the house,” said the beef-eaters, in chorus, turning to one another with raised eyebrows and indulgent smiles.
“This surpasses belief,” said Halberd.
“My good friend, you mistook what we said,” added Pike. “We are inquiring for The Sachem—not Mr. Sachem, but The Sachem.”
“I don’t know the Sachem,” said the landlord, frowning upon the guests. “What do you want?”
“He don’t know the Sachem!” said the comrades, again in chorus. They looked perfectly incredulous.
“Then I pity you for your loss,” Pike remarked.