“What a place of vile laziness!” grumbled Mr. Mordacks, as he got off his horse, after vainly shouting “Hostler!” and led him to the byre, which did duty for a stable. “York is a lazy hole enough, but the further you go from it, the lazier they get. No energy, no movement, no ambition, anywhere. What a country! what a people! I shall have to go back and enlist the washer-women.”
A Yorkshireman might have answered this complaint, if he thought it deserving of an answer, by requesting Master Mordacks not to be so overquick, but to bide a wee bit longer before he made so sure of the vast superiority of his own wit, for the long heads might prove better than the sharp ones in the end of it. However, the general factor thought that he could not have come to a better place to get all that he wanted out of everybody. He put away his saddle, and the saddlebags and sword, in a rough old sea-chest with a padlock to it, and having a sprinkle of chaff at the bottom. Then he calmly took the key, as if the place were his, gave his horse a rackful of long-cut grass, and presented himself, with a lordly aspect, at the front door of the silent inn. Here he made noise enough to stir the dead; and at the conclusion of a reasonable time, during which she had finished a pleasant dream to the simmering of the kitchen pot, the landlady showed herself in the distance, feeling for her keys with one hand, and rubbing her eyes with the other. This was the head-woman of the village, but seldom tyrannical, unless ill-treated, Widow Precious, tall and square, and of no mean capacity.
“Young mon,” with a deep voice she said, “what is tha' deein' wi' aw that clatter?”
“Alas, my dear madam, I am not a young man; and therefore time is more precious to me. I have lived out half my allotted span, and shall never complete it unless I get food.”
“T' life o' mon is aw a hoory,” replied Widow Precious, with slow truth. “Young mon, what 'll ye hev?”
“Dinner, madam; dinner at the earliest moment. I have ridden far, and my back is sore, and my substance is calling for renewal.”
“Ate, ate, ate, that's t' waa of aw menkins. Bud ye maa coom in, and crack o' it.”
“Madam, you are most hospitable; and the place altogether seems to be of that description. What a beautiful room! May I sit down? I perceive a fine smell of most delicate soup. Ah, you know how to do things at Flamborough.”
“Young mon, ye can ha' nune of yon potty. Yon's for mesell and t' childer.”
“My excellent hostess, mistake me not. I do not aspire to such lofty pot-luck. I simply referred to it as a proof of your admirable culinary powers.”