Richard Forrest, Bachelor — page 247: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

938 A LIVING SAINT. the marrow in one’s bones! See that my horse is prop- erly taken care of; the poor brute’s ready to drop.”’ “Cert’nly, sir. Look sharp, Tony. Havea drop of the wine of the country? Pure sunshine, as will set your blood to circulatin’ through your veins. Oh, you needn’t fear it,’’ as his guest eyed the bottle rather distrustfully ; ‘i¢ never hurta fly. Besides,’’ sotto voce, ‘‘this, mind you, is private stock—too good to waste on these,’’ wav- ing his hand contemptuously toward the crowd huddling around the fire. ‘‘I keep it for the like o’ you.”’ The subtle flattery succeeded, and the stranger poured out a drink and swallowed it, though he could scarcely keep from making a grimace, so full of alcohol was it. But it served his purpose, and he was thankful to get it, good or bad. ‘‘Has the stage come yet?’’ he asked, anxiously, as he returned the glass to the landlord. ‘No, sir, she’s fo’ty-five minutes late,’’ was the reply. ‘*She’s due at fo’ ’clock, but with the roads in such a con- dition, it’s a squeak if she gets here before five.”’ The stranger heaved a sigh of relief. ‘‘T want a seat,’’ he said, shortly. The landlord took the register, a huge red volume, off the shelf and carefully dusted it with his sleeve, after which his guest hastily scrawled his name in it. ‘‘lt’ll be a cheerless ride, Mr.—Forrest,’’ declared the host, adjusting a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles on his nose and scrutinizing the inscription. ‘‘Hadn’t yo’ better let us put yo’ up fo’ the night? You'll reach Wallford a heap mo’ comfortable by daylight, and the fus’ ‘bus’ in the mawnin’ reaches there at eleven-fifteen. You’re in rare luck if yo’ get there much befo’ ten to-night if it keeps on CONMEMOOK<S Colm