H. C. bowed his acknowledgments; our host though flattering was growing a little personal.
"You have lost your poet-laureate," he continued; "and another has not been appointed. I read the newspapers and know the leading events of every country; for though I live out of the world, I must know everything that is going on there. Perhaps, sir, you are to be the new poet-laureate?"
"Not at present," said H. C., flushing deeply as a vision of future greatness rose up before him. "I hope to be so in time. At present I am rather young to bear the weight of the laurel wreath, which seldom adorns the unwrinkled brow."
"There is rhythm in your prose," said the landlord in quiet appreciation. "Truth will out. But, sir, though a poet, you are mortal; at least I conclude so, in spite of your diaphanous form and spiritual regard; and I bethink me that time flies in talking, and we shall have dinner ready before we can turn round. In England, being a poet, you probably feast upon butterflies' wings and the bloom of peaches; but----"
"On the contrary," cried H. C. hastily; "I have an excellent appetite and love substantial dishes. Crystallised violets and the bloom of peaches I leave to my aunt, Lady Maria. Like George III. my favourite repast is boiled mutton and apple dumplings; and like the king I have never been able to understand how the apples get inside the pastry. That does not affect their flavour. So we will, if you please, make ready for dinner. Do you patronise the French or Spanish cuisine? Oh, I am indifferent. It is a mere matter of butter versus oil, and both are good."
Then they went off in a procession of two, the landlord carrying the flambeau. "We will look upon it as the torch of genius," said the latter, "and I am proud to bear it. But methinks, sir, it should be in your hands." After this we heard only receding footsteps.
The scene presently changed to the dining-room. At first we had made for the wrong room devoted to the humbler folk indoors and out. Here, too, the landlord and his own people took their meals; and once or twice, casting a glance in passing, it was a pleasure to see how madame's broad buxom face and capacious form was doing justice to the good things on the festive board. Her husband and children did not take after her; they were all very much after Pharaoh's lean kine: she could have sheltered them all under her ample wing.