The landlord nodded his head.
"Nothing like walking light," he commented.
"You're right," said Mr. Bascombe, rising to his feet. "By the way, can I have something to eat? It's a bit early, I know, but the fact is I didn't have much of a breakfast this morning."
"Why, c-certainly, sir, of course. Lunch won't be ready till one o'clock, but you can have anything c-c-cold, or a chop, or s-s-steak, if you pre-prefer it."
"Ah! a steak will do me proud," said Mr. Bascombe with enthusiasm. "A big 'un for choice, with plenty of potatoes."
"Anything to drink, sir?"
Mr. Bascombe paused a moment so as to let the full beauty of the question sink into his understanding. Then he replied playfully:
"Well, I think a drop of Burgundy might help it down."
The landlord, whose previous experience of touring clergymen had led him to regard them as a joyless and unprofitable brood, was delighted at the mingled geniality and broad-mindedness of his guest. With a "Certainly, sir; I'll fetch it you myself," he led the way across the lounge and threw open the door of the coffee-room.
"Perhaps you'd like to g-go to your room first, sir?" he suggested.