Let me look at your face critically: your bill of fare is three slices of cold rare roast beef, a Welsh rabbit, a pot of stout, and a glass or two of sound tawny port, old in bottle--the right milk of Englishmen.' Methought there seemed a brightening in his eye and a melting about his mouth at this enumeration.
'The night is young,' I continued; 'not much past eleven, for a wager.
Where can we find a good inn?
And remark that I say _good_, for the port must be up to the occasion--not a headache in a pipe of it.' 'Really, sir,' he said, smiling a little, 'you have a way of carrying things--' 'Will nothing make you stick to the subject ?' I cried; 'you have the most irrelevant mind! How do you expect to rise in your profession?
The inn ?' 'Well, I will say you are a facetious gentleman!' said he.

'You must have your way, I see.

We are not three miles from Bedford by this very road.' 'Done!' cried I.

'Bedford be it!' I tucked his arm under mine, possessed myself of the valise, and walked him off unresisting.

Presently we came to an open piece of country lying a thought downhill.