and the wine sipped luxuriously to the bottom of
the bottle, the satisfied guest sent for his host, and when he entered
the room, thus addressed him: "You have a fine inn here, landlord--a
_very_ fine inn: every thing is particularly nice--in fact, what _I_
call comfortable." The landlord expressed his gratification. "I shall
have great pleasure," continued the guest, without noticing the
interruption, "in recommending your house to my friends in town. There
remains only _one_ thing more to mention, landlord; and as the subject
is one which I have reason to think will be as unpleasant to you as to
myself, I will express it in a few words. I have not, at this moment,
any money; but I will be here again in--" "_No money_!" exclaimed the
landlord, in a voice husky with anger. "NO MONEY!! then why did you come
to the 'Hen-and-Chickens' and run up a bill that you can't pay? Get out
of my house this instant! Go! walk!" "I expected this," replied the
guest, rising; "I anticipated this treatment; nor can I much blame you,
landlord, to tell you the truth, for you don't _know_ me. Because you
sometimes meet with deception, you think _I_ am deceiving you; but I
pledge you my honor that a fortnight from this day I will be with you
again, and you will confess your self ashamed of your suspicions." "Bah!
you're a swindler!" ejaculated Boniface; "this will be the last of you:
take _that_!" and with a vigorous _coup de pied_, was "sped the parting
guest." "You will live to regret this, landlord, I am sure; but I do not
blame you, for you are ignorant of my character," was the meek reply to
this gross indignity. Just two weeks from that day, this same ill-used
gentleman (with a traveling friend), was, with many apologies and
protestations, shown into the best room of the celebrated
"Hen-and-Chickens" inn. The landlord's profuse apologies were accepted;
he was forgiven; and even invited to dine with the two friends upon the
best dinner, flanked by the very choicest wines which his house
afforded. When all was finished, and while the landlord, who had become
exceedingly mellow, was protesting that he should never be so suspicious
of a "real gentleman" again, he was interrupted by his first guest with:
"But, landlord, there is _one_ thing which we ought, in justice to you,
to mention. _I_ do not happen to have, at this moment, a single penny;
and, I grieve to say, that my companion, who is a _good_ man, but in a
worldly point of view, very p