The undaunted
Glover shook hands with him in the most cordial manner possible, fixed his
eye on one of the company who had a peculiarly good-natured physiognomy,
muttered something like a recognition, and forthwith launched into an
amusing story, invented at the moment, of something which he pretended had
occurred upon the road. The host supposed the new-comers were friends at
his guests; the guests that they were friends of the host. Glover did not
give them time to find out the truth. He followed one droll story with
another; brought his powers of mimicry into play, and kept the company in a
roar. Tea was offered and accepted; an hour went off in the most sociable
manner imaginable, at the end of which Glover bowed himself and his
companion out of the house with many facetious last words, leaving the host
and his company to compare notes, and to find out what an impudent
intrusion they had experienced.
Nothing could exceed the dismay and vexation of Goldsmith when triumphantly
told by Glover that it was all a hoax, and that he did not know a single
soul in the house. His first impulse was to return instantly and vindicate
himself from all participation in the jest; but a few words from his free
and easy companion dissuaded him.
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