He had relied on having the room to himself, for Market Blandings did not lunch to a great extent; but to his annoyance and disappointment the room was already occupied by a man in brown tweeds.

Occupied is the correct word, for at first sight this man seemed to fill the room.  Never since almost forgotten days when he used to frequent circuses and side shows, had Baxter seen a fellow human being so extraordinarily obese.  He was a man about fifty years old, gray-haired, of a mauve complexion, and his general appearance suggested joviality.

To Baxter’s chagrin, this person engaged him in conversation directly he took his seat at the table.  There was only one table in the room, as is customary in English inns, and it had the disadvantage that it collected those seated at it into one party.  It was impossible for Baxter to withdraw into himself and ignore this person’s advances.

It is doubtful whether he could have done it, however, had they been separated by yards of floor, for the fat man was not only naturally talkative but, as appeared from his opening remarks, speech had been dammed up within him for some time by lack of a suitable victim.

“Morning!” he began; “nice day.  Good for the farmers.  I’ll move up to your end of the table if I may, sir.  Waiter, bring my beef to this gentleman’s end of the table.”

He creaked into a chair at Baxter’s side and resumed: 

“Infernally quiet place, this, sir.  I haven’t found a soul to speak to since I arrived yesterday afternoon except deaf-and-dumb rustics.  Are you making a long stay here?”

“I live outside the town.”

“I pity you.  Wouldn’t care to do it myself.  Had to come here on business and shan’t be sorry when it’s finished.  I give you my word I couldn’t sleep a wink last night because of the quiet.  I was just dropping off when a beast of a bird outside the window gave a chirrup, and it brought me up with a jerk as though somebody had fired a gun.  There’s a damned cat somewhere near my room that mews.  I lie in bed waiting for the next mew, all worked up.

“Heaven save me from the country!  It may be all right for you, if you’ve got a comfortable home and a pal or two to chat with after dinner; but you’ve no conception what it’s like in this infernal town—­I suppose it calls itself a town.  What a hole!  There’s a church down the street.  I’m told it’s Norman or something.  Anyway, it’s old.  I’m not much of a man for churches as a rule, but I went and took a look at it.

“Then somebody told me there was a fine view from the end of High Street; so I went and took a look at that.  And now, so far as I can make out, I’ve done the sights and exhausted every possibility of entertainment the town has to provide—­unless there’s another church.  I’m so reduced that I’ll go and see the Methodist Chapel, if there is one.”

Fresh air, want of sleep and the closeness of the dining-room combined to make Baxter drowsy.  He ate his lunch in a torpor, hardly replying to his companion’s remarks, who, for his part, did not seem to wish or to expect replies.  It was enough for him to be talking.