Could you
let me have a room? Just a bedroom would be enough.'
'Why, yes, sir,' replied the landlord's daughter. 'We have two bedrooms,
you know, and I've no doubt my father would be willing to arrange with
you.'
'Ah, then I'll mention it to him. Is he in very low spirits?'
'He's unusual low to-day, sir. I shouldn't wonder if it did him good to see
you, and talk a bit.'
Having finished his ginger-beer, Mr. Ruddiman walked through the house and
passed out into the garden, where he at once became aware of Mr. Fouracres.
The landlord, a man of sixty, with grizzled hair and large, heavy
countenance, sat in a rustic chair under an apple-tree; beside him was a
little table, on which stood a bottle of whisky and a glass. Approaching,
Mr. Ruddiman saw reason to suspect that the landlord had partaken too
freely of the refreshment ready to his hand. Mr. Fouracres' person was in a
limp state; his cheeks were very highly coloured, and his head kept nodding
as he muttered to himself. At the visitor's greeting he looked up with a
sudden surprise, as though he resented an intrusion on his privacy.
'It's very hot, Mr. Fouracres,' the under-master went on to remark with
cordiality.
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