Mr. Caryll, alighted from his traveling chaise in the yard of the "Adam and Eve," at Maidstone, on a sunny afternoon in May.
Landed at Dover the night before, he had parted company with Sir Richard Everard that morning. His adoptive father had turned aside toward Rochester, to discharge his king's business with plotting Bishop Atterbury, what time Justin was to push on toward town as King James' ambassador to the Earl of Ostermore, who, advised of his coming, was expecting him.
Here at Maidstone it was Mr. Caryll's intent to dine, resuming his journey in the cool of the evening, when he hoped to get at least as far as Farnborough ere he slept.
Landlady, chamberlain, ostler and a posse of underlings hastened to give welcome to so fine a gentleman, and a private room above-stairs was placed at his disposal. Before ascending, however, Mr. Caryll sauntered into the bar for a whetting glass to give him an appetite, and further for the purpose of bespeaking in detail his dinner with the hostess.
It was one of his traits that he gave the greatest attention to detail, and held that the man who left the ordering of his edibles to his servants was no better than an animal who saw no more than nourishment in food. Nor was the matter one to be settled summarily; it asked thought and time. So he sipped his Hock, listening to the landlady's proposals, and amending them where necessary with suggestions of his own, and what time he was so engaged, there ambled into the inn yard a sturdy cob bearing a sturdy little man in snuff-colored clothes that had seen some wear.
The newcomer threw his reins to the stable-boy - a person of all the importance necessary to receive so indifferent a guest. He got down nimbly from his horse, produced an enormous handkerchief of many colors, and removed his three-cornered hat that he might the better mop his brow and youthful, almost cherubic face. What time he did so, a pair of bright little blue eyes were very busy with. Mr. Caryll's carriage, from which Leduc, Mr. Caryll's valet, was in the act of removing a portmantle. His mobile mouth fell into lines of satisfaction.
Still mopping himself, he entered the inn, and, guided by the drone of voices, sauntered into the bar. At sight of Mr. Caryll leaning there, his little eyes beamed an instant, as do the eyes of one who espies a friend, or - apter figure - the eyes of the hunter when they sight the quarry.
He advanced to the bar, bowing to Mr. Caryll with an air almost apologetic, and to the landlady with an air scarcely less so, as he asked for a nipperkin of ale to wash the dust of the road from his throat. The hostess called a drawer to serve him, and departed herself upon the momentous business of Mr. Caryll's dinner.
"A warm day, sir," said the chubby man.
Mr. Caryll agreed with him politely, and finished his glass, the other sipping meanwhile at his ale.
"A fine brew, sir," said he. "A prodigious fine brew! With all respect, sir, your honor should try a whet of our English ale."Mr. Caryll, setting down his glass, looked languidly at the man. "Why do you exclude me, sir, from the nation of this beverage?" he inquired.
The chubby man's face expressed astonishment. "Ye're English, sir! Ecod! I had thought ye French!""It is an honor, sir, that you should have thought me anything."The other abased himself. "'Twas an unwarrantable presumption, Codso! which I hope your honor'll pardon." Then he smiled again, his little eyes twinkling humorously. "An ye would try the ale, I dare swear your honor would forgive me.
I know ale, ecod! I am a brewer myself. Green is my name, sir - Tom Green - your very obedient servant, sir." And he drank as if pledging that same service he professed.
Mr. Caryll observed him calmly and a thought indifferently.
"Ye're determined to honor me," said he. "I am your debtor for your reflections upon whetting glasses; but ale, sir, is a beverage I don't affect, nor shall while there are vines in France.""Ah!" sighed Mr. Green rapturously. "'Tis a great country, France; is it not, sir?""'Tis not the general opinion here at present. But I make no doubt that it deserves your praise.""And Paris, now," persisted Mr. Green. "They tell me 'tis a great city; a marvel o' th' ages. There be those, ecod! that say London's but a kennel to't.""Be there so?" quoth Mr. Caryll indifferently.
"Ye don't agree with them, belike?" asked Mr. Green, with eagerness.
"Pooh! Men will say anything," Mr. Caryll replied, and added pointedly: "Men will talk, ye see.""Not always," was the retort in a sly tone. "I've known men to be prodigious short when they had aught to hide.""Have ye so? Ye seem to have had a wide experience." And Mr. Caryll sauntered out, humming a French air through closed lips.
Mr. Green looked after him with hardened eyes. He turned to the drawer who stood by. "He's mighty close," said he.
"Mighty close!"
"Ye're not perhaps quite the company he cares for," the drawer suggested candidly.
Mr. Green looked at him. "Very like," he snapped. "How long does he stay here?""Ye lost a rare chance of finding out when ye let him go without inquiring," said the drawer.
Mr. Green's face lost some of its chubbiness. "When d'ye look to marry the landlady?" was his next question.
