‘I swear it,’ said Joseph with great earnestness.
‘There is never a woman in the world,’ said the warder with the bad ankle, ‘whose waist I couldn’t encircle, and I’ve tried lots.’
‘But I tell you this woman is out of the common altogether.’
‘Have you ever tried?’ sneered the warder with the bad stomach.
‘No, but I’ve measured her with my eye.’
‘The eye is easy deceived as to distances and dimensions. Why, Lord bless you! I’ve seen in a fog a sheep on the moor look as big as a hippopotamus.’
‘But the landlady is not on the moor nor in a fog,’ persisted Joseph. ‘I bet you half-a-guinea, laid out in drink, that ‘tis as I say.’
‘Done!’ said both warders. ‘Done!’ said the constables, and turning to their right, they went off to the ‘Hare and Hounds,’ two miles out of their way, to see the fat woman and test her dimensions.
Now this change in the destination of the party led to the capture of Martin, and to the wounding of the warder who complained of his stomach.
The party reached the little tavern—a poor country inn built where roads crossed—a wretched house, tarred over its stone face as protection against the driving rains. They entered, and the hostess cheerfully consented to having her girth tested. She was accustomed to it. Her fatness was part of her stock-in-trade: it drew customers to the ‘Hare and Hounds’ who otherwise would have gone on to Beer Alston, where was a pretty and pert maid.