The Public-House — Landlord on His Legs Again — A Blow in Season — The Way of The World — The Grateful Mind — The Horse’s Neigh

It was rather late on the following morning when I awoke. At first I was almost unconscious of what had occurred on the preceding day; recollection, however, by degrees returned, and I felt a deep melancholy coming over me, but perfectly aware that no advantage could be derived from the indulgence of such a feeling, I sprang up, prepared my breakfast, which I ate with a tolerable appetite, and then left the dingle, and betook myself to the gypsy encampment, where I entered into discourse with various Romanies, both male and female. After some time, feeling myself in better spirits, I determined to pay another visit to the landlord of the public-house. From the position of his affairs when I had last visited him, I entertained rather gloomy ideas with respect to his present circumstances. I imagined that I should either find him alone in his kitchen smoking a wretched pipe, or in company with some surly bailiff or his follower, whom his friend the brewer had sent into the house in order to take possession of his effects.

Nothing more entirely differing from either of these anticipations could have presented itself to my view than what I saw about one o’clock in the afternoon, when I entered the house. I had come, though somewhat in want of consolation myself, to offer any consolation which was at my command to my acquaintance Catchpole, and perhaps, like many other people who go to a house with ‘drops of compassion trembling on their eyelids,’ I felt rather disappointed at finding that no compassion was necessary. The house was thronged with company, the cries for ale and porter, hot brandy and water, cold gin and water, were numerous; moreover, no desire to receive and not to pay for the landlord’s liquids was manifested — on the contrary, everybody seemed disposed to play the most honourable part: ‘Landlord, here’s the money for this glass of brandy and water — do me the favour to take it; all right, remember I have paid you.’ ‘Landlord, here’s the money for the pint of half-and-half — four-pence halfpenny, a’nt it? — here’s sixpence, keep the change — confound the change!’ The landlord, assisted by his niece, bustled about; his brow erect, his cheeks plumped out, and all his features exhibiting a kind of surly satisfaction. Wherever he moved, marks of the most cordial amity were shown him, hands were thrust out to grasp his, nor were looks of respect, admiration, nay almost of adoration, wanting. I observed one fellow, as the landlord advanced, take the pipe out of his mouth, and gaze upon him with a kind of grin of wonder, probably much the same as his ancestor, the Saxon lout of old, put on when he saw his idol Thur dressed in a new kirtle. To avoid the press, I got into a corner, where, on a couple of chairs, sat two respectable-looking individuals, whether farmers or sow-gelders, I know not, but highly respectable-looking, who were discoursing about the landlord. ‘Such another,’ said one, ‘you will not find in a summer’s day.’ ‘No, nor in the whole of England,’ said the other. ‘Tom of Hopton,’ said the first; ‘ah! Tom of Hopton,’ echoed the other; ‘the man who could beat Tom of Hopton could beat the world.’ ‘I glory in him,’ said the first. ‘So do I,’ said the second, ‘I’ll back him against the world. Let me hear any one say anything against him, and if I don’t —’ then, looking at me, he added, ‘have you anything to say against him, young man?’ ‘Not a word,’ said I, ‘save that he regularly puts me out.’ ‘He’ll put any one out,’ said the man, ‘any one out of conceit with himself;’ then, lifting a mug to his mouth, he added, with a hiccough, ‘I drink his health.’ Presently the landlord, as he moved about, observing me, stopped short: ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘are you here? I am glad to see you, come this way. Stand back,’ said he to his company, as I followed him to the bar, ‘stand back for me and this gentleman.’ Two or three young fellows were in the bar, seemingly sporting yokels, drinking sherry and smoking. ‘Come, gentlemen,’ said the landlord, ‘clear the bar, I must have a clear bar for me and my friend here.’ ‘Landlord, what will you take?’ said one —‘a glass of sherry? I know you like it.’ ‘—— sherry and you too,’ said the landlord; ‘I want neither sherry nor yourself; didn’t you hear what I told you?’ ‘All right, old fellow,’ said the other, shaking the landlord by the hand —‘all right; don’t wish to intrude — but I suppose when you and your friend have done I may come in again.’ Then, with ‘A sarvant, sir,’ to me, he took himself into the kitchen, followed by the rest of the sporting yokels.

Thereupon the landlord, taking a bottle of ale from a basket, uncorked it, and pouring the contents into two large glasses, handed me one, and motioning me to sit down, placed himself by me; then, emptying his own glass at a draught, he gave a kind of grunt of satisfaction, and fixing his eyes upon the opposite side of the bar, remained motionless, without saying a word, buried apparently in important cogitations. With respect to myself, I swallowed my ale more leisurely, and was about to address my friend, when his niece, coming into the bar, said that more and more customers were arriving, and how she should supply their wants she did not know, unless her uncle would get up and help her.

‘The customers!’ said the landlord, ‘let the scoundrels wait till you have time to serve them, or till I have leisure to see after them.’ ‘The kitchen won’t contain half of them,’ said his niece. ‘Then let them sit out abroad,’ said the landlord. ‘But there are not benches enough, uncle,’ said the niece. ‘Then let them stand or sit on the ground,’ said the uncle; ‘what care I? I’ll let them know that the man who beat Tom of Hopton stands as well again on his legs as ever.’ Then, opening a side door which led from the bar into the back-yard, he beckoned me to follow him. ‘You treat your customers in rather a cavalier manner,’ said I, when we were alone together in the yard.

‘Don’t I?’ said the landlord; ‘and I’ll treat them more so yet; now I have got the whip-hand of the rascals I intend to keep it. I dare say you are a bit surprised with regard to the change which has come over things since you were last here. I’ll tell you how it happened. You remember in what a desperate condition you found me, thinking of changing my religion, selling my soul to the man in black, and then going and hanging myself like Pontius Pilate; and I dare say you can’t have forgotten how you gave me good advice, made me drink ale, and give up sherry. Well, after you were gone, I felt all the better for your talk, and what you had made me drink, and it was a mercy that I did feel better, for my niece was gone out, poor thing! and I was left alone in the house, without a soul to look at, or to keep me from doing myself a mischief in case I was so inclined. Well, things wore on in this way till it grew dusk, when in came that blackguard Hunter with his train to drink at my expense, and to insult me as usual; there were more than a dozen of them, and a pretty set they looked. Well, they ordered about in a very free and easy manner for upwards of an hour and a half, occasionally sneering and jeering at me, as they had been in the habit of doing for some time past; so, as I said before, things wore on, and other customers came in, who, though they did not belong to Hunter’s gang, also passed off their jokes upon me; for, as you perhaps know, we English are a set of low hounds, who will always take part with the many by way of making ourselves safe, and currying favour with the stronger side. I said little or nothing, for my spirits had again become very low, and I was verily scared and afraid. All of a sudden I thought of the ale which I had drank in the morning, and of the good it did me then, so I went into the bar, opened another bottle, took a glass, and felt better; so I took another, and feeling better still, I went back into the kitchen just as Hunter and his crew were about leaving. “Mr. Hunter,” said I, “you and your people will please to pay me for what you have had?” “What do you mean by my people?” said he, with an oath. “Ah! what do you mean by calling us his people?” said the clan. “We are nobody’s people;” and then there was a pretty load of abuse, and threatening to serve me out. “Well,” said I, “I was perhaps wrong to call them your people, and beg your pardon and theirs. And now you will please to pay me for what you have had yourself, and afterwards I can settle with them.” “I shall pay you when I think fit,” said Hunter. “Yes,” said the rest, “and so shall we. We shall pay you when we think fit.” “I tell you what,” said Hunter, “I conceives I do such an old fool as you an honour when I comes ............