"Did you notice that fellow?" I enquired, brushing the dust from me.
"Did you see--her?" exclaimed Anthony.
"A fleshly brute if ever there was one!" said I.
"Such glorious eyes and hair--a sweet angelic creature, Perry. Her
eyes seemed so big and appealing. Oh, curse it, why must women have
such eyes. Damn everything!"
"It will be a beautiful night!" said I, staring up at the purple vault
where stars began to wink.
"She looked--miserable--almost like one afraid."
"I wonder where we shall sleep, Anthony?"
"Oh, anywhere, in some barn, under a hedge, in a rick--what matter?
Why should she look afraid, I wonder?"
I made no answer, for truth to tell my mind yearned and my body
hungered for the sweet, cool luxury of lavender sheets; the thought of
a draughty barn or comfortless ditch appalled me, but I held my peace,
only I scanned the dim road before me with eager eyes for some sign of
tavern or inn.
And presently from the loom of trees I espied a twinkling light that
upon our nearer approach I saw proceeded from a wayside inn with a
great trough of water before it and a signboard whereon, though
evening was falling apace, I could make out the legend--
THE JOLLY WAGGONER
and above this the dim semblance of a man in gaiters and smock,
bearing a whip in one hand while in the other he upheld a foaming
beaker--but never in nature did ale or beer ever so foam, froth,
bubble and seethe as did this painted waggoner's painted beer.
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