The Argosy — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

24 The Master of Greylands. himself, almost as though the dolphin were an old acquaintance, he went in. Mrs, Bent curtseyed low to him in the good old respectful fashion: and he returned it with a bow. A fire was blazing in one of the parlours, and to this room the: guest was conducted by both landlord and landlady. Taking off his upper coat, which was warmly slashed with dark fur, they saw a slight active man of some eight-and-twenty years, under the middle height, with a fresh, pleasant, handsome face, and bright dark eyes. Something in the face seemed to strike on a chord of the landlord’s memory. “Who the dickens is he like?” mentally questioned John. ‘ Any- way, I like his looks.” “I can have a bed-chamber, I suppose?” spoke the stranger: and they noticed then that his English, though quite fluent as to words, had something of a foreign ring in it. ‘Will you show me to one.” ‘¢ At your service, sir ; please step this way,” said Mrs. Bent, in her most gracious tones, for she was habitually courteous to her guests, and was besides favourably impressed by this one’s Jooks and manners, “‘ Hot water directly, Molly,” she called out in the direction of the kitchen, ‘“‘and John, do you bring up the gentleman’s luggage.” **¥ can’t think who it is his face puts me in mind of,” began John, when he and his wife got back to the best kitchen again, and she began to make hasty work of the shrimps. ‘Rubbish to his face,’ spoke Mrs. Bent. ‘“ The face is nice enough if you mean that. It’s late to get anything of a dinner up; and he has not sate what he'll have, though I asked him.” ‘“ And look here, wife—that portmanteau is not an English one.” “It may be Dutch, for all it matters to us. Now John Bent, just you stir up that fire a bit, and put some coal on. I may have to bring a saucepan in here, for what I know.” “Tush!” said John—doing as he was bid, nevertheless. ‘‘ A chop and a potato: that’s as much as most of these chance travellers want.” » ‘Not when they are from over the water. I don’t forget the last foreign Frenchman that put up here. Fifteen dishes he wanted for his dinner, if he wanted one. And all of ‘em dabs and messes.” She had gone to carry away her shrimps when the stranger came down. He walked direct into the kitchen, and looked from the open door. The landlord stood in waiting. ‘You are Thomas Bent, I think,” said the stranger, turning round. “John Bent, sir. My father was Thomas Bent, and he has been dead many a year.” ‘‘And this is your good wife?” he added, as the landlady came bustling in. ‘“ Mistress of the inn.” ‘© And master too,” muttered John, in an undertone. ‘¢T was about to order dinner, Mr. Bent ” (C(O) in —_) ‘¢ Then you'd better order it of me, sir,” put in the lanclagly. His