“A fine, tall fellow?” I inquired.

“Yes—­do ’ee know him, sir?”

“With a handsome pair of black whiskers?” said I.

“The very same, sir, and they do be handsome whiskers, though I do say it.”

“The finest I ever saw.  I wish you every happiness,” said I.

“Thankee sir, I’m sure,” said she, and, dimpling more prettily than ever, she tripped away, and left me to my repast.

And when I had assuaged my hunger, I took out the pipe of Adam, the groom, the pipe shaped like a negro’s head, and, calling for a paper of tobacco, I filled and lighted the pipe, and sat staring dreamily out of the window.

Happy is that man who, by reason of an abundant fortune, knows not the meaning of the word hunger; but thrice happy is he who, when the hand of famine pinches, may stay his craving with such a meal as this of mine.  Never before, and never since have I tasted just such eggs, and such ham—­so tender! so delicate! so full of flavor!  It is a memory that can never fade.  Indeed, sometimes (even now), when I grow hungry, (about dinner-time) I see once more the surly-faced man, the rosy-cheeked waiting-maid, and the gloomy chamber of the “Old Cock” tavern as I saw them upon that early May morning of the year of grace 18—.

So I sat, with a contented mind, smoking my pipe, and staring out at the falling summer rain.  And presently, chancing to turn my eyes up the road, I beheld a chaise that galloped in a smother of mud.  As I watched its rapid approach, the postilion swung his horses towards the inn, and a moment later had pulled up before the door.  They had evidently travelled fast and far, for the chaise was covered with dirt; and the poor horses, in a lather of foam, hung their heads, while their flanks heaved distressfully.

The chaise door was now thrown open, and three gentlemen alighted.  The first was a short, plethoric individual, bull-necked and loud of voice, for I could hear him roundly cursing the post-boy for some fault; the second was a tall, languid gentleman, who carried a flat, oblong box beneath one arm, and who paused to fondle his whisker, and look up at the inn with an exaggerated air of disgust; while the third stood mutely by, his hands thrust into the pockets of his greatcoat, and stared straight before him.

The three of them entered the room together, and, while the languid gentleman paused to survey himself in the small, cracked mirror that hung against the wall, the plethoric individual bustled to the fire, and, loosening his coats and neckerchief, spread out his hands to the blaze.

“A good half-hour before our time,” said he, glancing towards the third gentleman, who stood looking out of the window with his hands still deep in his pockets; “we did the last ten miles well under the hour—­come, what do you say to a glass of brandy?”

At this, his languid companion turned from the mirror, and I noticed that he, too, glanced at the silent figure by the window.