"Drat the boy," said Mr. Brown; "he'll wind her—that's a sure thing—one of these days; and then where'll the money come from to buy another? But no money could do it! Why, I wouldn't take a hundred guineas for that mare, sir, if it was offered to me to-morrow morning! she's worth her weight in gold, sir, that mare is!"
"Don't fidget about the mare, Mr. Brown," said the gentleman; "she'll be all right; a little gallop will do her good. And now I shall try Mrs. Brown's cookery,—it smells very good;" and he returned into the house to appease his appetite, while the landlord went into the stable to lament once more over the wilfulness of that scamp of a boy, as he called him, and to see that all things were ready for his pet when she came back. And, having done all this, he returned to the kitchen, where he found the stranger smoking a pipe in the chimney-corner after his frugal repast, and chatting with Mrs. Brown as if they had been old acquaintances.
"Come, Mr. Brown," said he, "I'm going to have a glass of brandy and water, and you must take one too; so mix them, if you please, and come and tell me all the news."
"Polly! come and get the hot water and sugar for the gentleman," said the landlord, calling to the maid, who was upstairs, as he went towards the bar to get the two brandies. "Come, Poll! Poll! Polly!" But as Polly did not come, he was obliged to bustle about himself; for he received no help from his wife, although he called to her several times from the bar. At length all things were placed on the little table, and the stranger began to ask about "The Conjuror."
"The what!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, dropping her needles, and looking up in surprise and alarm,—while poor Mr. Brown stopped short in the act of putting his glass to his lips.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the stranger; "you look as if you had heard some fellow talking treason against His Most Gracious Majesty the King—God bless him!"—and the stranger lifted his hat, which he had kept on out of compliment to his host and hostess. "I mean Mr. Freeman, then," he said, correcting himself; "I have heard such wonderful accounts of him, that I should like to know what he can really do."
"He would shaw you what he could do, very soon, ef he heard you speak that word, I reckon," replied Mrs. Brown, getting up from her seat and going to the door of the kitchen, and looking into the passage and closing the front door.
"He doesn't like being called a 'conjuror,' then," said the stranger.
"Like it?" said Mrs. Brown, drawing her chair nearer to the chimney-corner; "iss,—just as much as you would like to be called 'no conjuror!'"