TONY. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road you are going, nor
where you are, nor the road you came, the first thing I have to inform
you is, that--you have lost your way.
MARLOW. We wanted no ghost to tell us that.
TONY. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold so as to ask the place from
whence you came?
MARLOW. That’s not necessary towards directing us where we are to go.
TONY. No offence; but question for question is all fair, you know.
Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle a cross-grained,
old-fashioned, whimsical fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a
pretty son?
HASTINGS. We have not seen the gentleman; but he has the family you
mention.
TONY. The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trolloping, talkative maypole;
the son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody is fond
of.
MARLOW. Our information differs in this. The daughter is said to be
well-bred and beautiful; the son an awkward booby, reared up and
spoiled at his mother’s apron-string.
TONY. He-he-hem!--Then, gentlemen, all I have to tell you is, that you
won’t reach Mr. Hardcastle’s house this night, I believe.
HASTINGS. Unfortunate!
TONY. It’s a damn’d long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way. Stingo,
tell the gentlemen the way to Mr. Hardcastle’s! (Winking upon the
Landlord.) Mr. Hardcastle’s, of Quagmire Marsh, you understand me.
LANDLORD. Master Hardcastle’s! Lock-a-daisy, my masters, you’re come
a deadly deal wrong! When you came to the bottom of the hill, you
should have crossed down Squash Lane.
MARLOW. Cross down Squash Lane!
LANDLORD. Then you were to keep straight forward, till you came to
four roads.
MARLOW. Come to where four roads meet?
TONY. Ay; but you must be sure to take only one of them.
MARLOW. O, sir, you’re facetious.
TONY. Then keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come
upon Crackskull Common: there you must look sharp for the track of the
wheel, and go forward till you come to farmer Murrain’s barn. Coming
to the farmer’s barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the
left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old
mill--
MARLOW. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude!
HASTINGS. What’s to be done, Marlow?
MARLOW. This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the
landlord can accommodate us.
LANDLORD. Alack, master, we have but one spare bed in the whole
house.
TONY. And to my knowledge, that’s taken up by three lodgers already.
(After a pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.) I have hit it.
Don’t you think, Stingo, our landlady could accommodate the gentlemen
by the fire-side, with----three chairs and a bolster?
HASTINGS. I hate sleeping by the fire-side.
MARLOW. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster.
TONY. You do, do you? then, let me see--what if you go on a mile
further, to the Buck’s Head; the old Buck’s Head on the hill, one of
the best inns in the whole county?
HASTINGS. O ho! so we have escaped an adventure for this night,
however.
LANDLORD. (apart to TONY). Sure, you ben’t sending them to your
father’s as an inn, be you?
TONY. Mum, you fool you. Let THEM find that out. (To them.) You
have only to keep on straight forward, till you come to a large old
house by the road side. You’ll see a pair of large horns over the
door. That’s the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you.
HASTINGS. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants can’t miss the
way?
TONY. No, no: but I tell you, though, the landlord is rich, and going
to leave off business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving
your presence, he! he! he! He’ll be for giving you his company; and,
ecod, if you mind him, he’ll persuade you that his mother was an
alderman, and his aunt a justice of peace.
LANDLORD. A troublesome old blade, to be sure; but a keeps as good
wines and beds as any in the whole country.
MARLOW. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no farther
connexion. We are to turn to the right, did you say?
TONY. No, no; straight forward. I’ll just step myself, and show you a
piece of the way. (To the Landlord.) Mum!
LANDLORD. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant--damn’d
mischievous son of a whore. [Exeunt.]