As I entered, I recognised the chief of the four men who sat at the table as my friend the Bishop’s man, whom I had met on the road two days ago, but whom, as well as my promise to meet him to-day, I had since clean forgotten. He hailed me gaily, as if he expected me.
“Welcome, lad; you are a man of your word. I knew you would come. Come and join us, there is brave sport afoot.”
I coloured up, to be thus commended for what I did not merit.
“Indeed,” said I, “I—I am glad to meet you again, but—but (how I stammered), just now I am looking for my friend.”
“What! Have you not done your errand?” said he. “You told me it was in Oxford.”
“It was. I have done it—but I left a friend here. Mine host,” said I, turning to the man of the place, “is my comrade astir yet?”
The host crammed his apron in his mouth to keep in a laugh.
“Astir! Sir Ludar astir! I warrant thee half the bucks in Shotover Wood are astir too before now.”
“What!” said I, my face falling suddenly, “is he gone then?”
“An hour since; and by your leave, young sir,” added mine host, “I would take leave to remind your grandeur that the score of last night’s supper, and a trifle my lord took for his breakfast, with the shoeing and meat of the horse, and the price of your night’s lodging, awaits your noble acquittance.”