They had a
thousand sly things to say to the waiting-maid, whom they called
Louisa, and Ethelinda, and a dozen other fine names, changing the name
every time, and chuckling amazingly at their own waggery. My mind,
however, had become completely engrossed by the stout gentleman. He
had kept my fancy in chase during a long day, and it was not now to be
diverted from the scent.
The evening gradually wore away. The travellers read the papers two or
three times over. Some drew round the fire, and told long stories
about their horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and
breakings down. They discussed the credits of different merchants and
different inns; and the two wags told several choice anecdotes of
pretty chamber-maids, and kind landladies. All this passed as they
were quietly taking what they called their night-caps, that is to say,
strong glasses of brandy and water and sugar, or some other mixture of
the kind; after which they one after another rang for "Boots" and the
chamber-maid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down into
marvellously uncomfortable slippers.
There was only one man left; a short-legged, long-bodied, plethoric
fellow, with a very large, sandy head. He sat by himself, with a glass
of port wine negus, and a spoon; sipping and stirring, and meditating
and sipping, until nothing was left but the spoon.
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