“No; he must, under those trying circumstances, look simply to the person who first deprived him of his faithful nag,”[325] I replied.
“The other innkeeper may charge pretty well for the horses, if we stay here ourselves,” suggested De Gex.
“In the good old days of yore he could not have done that, for innkeepers were bound to ask only a reasonable price, to be calculated according to the rates of the adjoining market, without getting anything for litter;[326] and if they made a gross overcharge, the guests had only to tender a reasonable sum, and have them indicted and fined for extortion.[327] But I fear me those halcyon days have passed. Do you know that if a man is beaten at an inn the proprietor is not answerable, although if the man’s horse should be so treated, even if it were not known who did it, the publican will be liable?”[328]
“That is queer law. Why is it?”
“Because in ages long since gone by an innkeeper’s liability was confined to one’s bona et catalla, and injury to a man is not damage to his bona et catalla.”
“Well, I am sure I don’t see what would damage his ‘bones and cartilage,’ if a good beating did not. Let us join the ladies.”
“I think we had better, after that atrocious attempt at a pun,” I replied. “Well said the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, ‘a pun is prima facie an insult to the person you are talking with. It implies utter indifference to, or sublime contempt for, his remarks, no matter how serious.’”
We found our better halves had gone out for a walk. Knowing that their feminine curiosity would soon bring them to a standstill we started in pursuit, and speedily came up with them as they stood gazing at some rose bushes in a pretty flower garden.
“Did you ever see such bea-u-ti-ful roses?” screamed Mrs. De Gex, whose voice, when pitched in a high key, was as melodious as a peacock’s.
“And so many!” added Mrs. Lawyer.