There was plenty to eat, the landlord said, if the commercial gentlemen
made no objection to my joining their table; and such objection was very
unlikely, since nicer gentlemen you couldn't hope to meet.
He then went off to put the point to them, and they seem to have been
very charming about it, judging by the cordiality and courtesy of the
welcome which I received. Being, however, at the end of the table, I had
but one neighbour, and he not a very communicative one, for, although he
did at once lay down his knife and fork to tell me that the beef came
from Scotland and was therefore more to be desired than the mutton,
which was local, he said no more, and I was therefore left to eat in
silence, my two _vis-à-vis_ being engaged in a private conversation.
Such little as from time to time I heard among the others was not much
in my line, dealing as it did either with horses, Ulster, or Mexico; but
suddenly a big man with a purple face and a signet ring as large as a
carriage lamp plunged me into curiosity by remarking that he "never
bought less than three two-shilling books a week, and sometimes four."
These being the last words I should have expected from him, for he
looked absolutely the type that reads only a half-penny daily and a
sporting sheet and puts in the rest of its leisure at gossip or cards,
and as I am interested in people's taste in literature, I determined to
improve his acquaintance and discover something as to his favourite
authors; and again, as I made this resolve, I realised how foolish it is
ever to expect the outside of a man to be any index of his mind. One
never can tell, and one is always having further proof that one never
can tell, and yet one goes on trying to tell.
Studying him in a series of glances, I set him down for a NAT GOULD man.
The arrival of coffee and the departure of certain guests (wisely, as it
happened,) who did not want that curious beverage, relaxed the table,
and I moved up to the brave buyer of books. He received me affably, and
we exchanged a few remarks on those ice-breaking matters of no
importance upon which real convictions are not expected. Then, with a
deft touch, I turned the talk to literature. "I suppose," I said, "with
your long journeys you get plenty of time for reading?"
"Time enough," he said.
I continued by a reference to the advantages which we enjoyed over our
fathers and grandfathers in the multiplicity of cheap books. "Those
wonderful sevenpennies!" I said.
He agreed. He had often spent ten minutes at a junction in looking at
them.
"And the shilling books," I said. "The more serious ones--'Everyman's
Library,' and all that sort of thing. Most remarkable!"
He had noticed those too, but still he offered no views of his own.
I saw that he was one of the uncommunicative kind. Information must be
drawn forcibly from him.
"And the two-shilling novels," I said--"they're wonderful too."