And it will be quite as well not to tell Maria."
But Johnny would hear nothing of this scheme. He would pay the entire
cost of his own journey. He had lots of money, he said, and would
like nothing better. "Then I'll run down," said Toogood, "and rummage
up what tidings I can. As for writing to the dean, what's the good of
writing to a man when you don't know where he is? Business letters
always lie at hotels for two months, and then come back with double
postage. From all I can hear, you'll stumble on her before you find
him. If we do nothing else but bring him back, it will be a great
thing to have the support of such a friend in the court. A Barchester
jury won't like to find a man guilty who is hand-and-glove with the
dean."

Mr. Toogood reached the "Dragon" about eleven o'clock, and allowed the
boots to give him a pair of slippers and a candlestick. But he would
not go to bed just at that moment. He would go into the coffee-room
first, and have a glass of hot brandy-and-water. So the hot
brandy-and-water was brought to him, and a cigar, and as he smoked
and drank he conversed with the waiter. The man was a waiter of the
ancient class, a grey-haired waiter, with seedy clothes, and a dirty
towel under his arm; not a dapper waiter, with black shiny hair,
and dressed like a guest for a dinner-party. There are two distinct
classes of waiters, and as far as I have been able to perceive,
the special status of the waiter in question cannot be decided by
observation of the class of waiter to which he belongs. In such a
town as Barchester you may find the old waiter with the dirty towel
in the head inn, or in the second-class inn, and so you may the
dapper waiter. Or you may find both in each, and not know which is
senior waiter and which junior waiter. But for service I always
prefer the old waiter with the dirty towel, and I find it more easy
to satisfy him in the matter of sixpence when my relations to the inn
come to an end.

"Have you been here long, John," said Mr. Toogood.

"A goodish many years, sir."

"So I thought, by the look of you. One can see that you belong in a
way to the place. You do a good deal of business here, I suppose, at
this time of the year?"

"Well, sir, pretty fair. The house ain't what it used to be, sir."

"Times are bad at Barchester,--are they?"

"I don't know much about the times. It's the people is worse than the
times, I think. They used to like to have a little dinner now and
aga