Now the landlord, waiter, boots, and chambermaid, the chambermaid especially, had all, in Mr.Neverbend's estimation, paid Tudor by far too much consideration; and he was determined to show that he himself was first fiddle.
'Wait! no; quite out of the question--bring the hot water immediately--and tell the ostler to have the fly at the door at half-past seven exact.' 'Yes, sir,' said the man, and disappeared.
Neverbend waited five minutes, and then rang the bell impetuously.

'If you don't bring me my tea immediately, I shall send for Mr.Boteldale.' Now Mr.Boteldale was the landlord.
'Mr.Tudor will be down in ten minutes,' was the waiter's false reply; for up to that moment poor Alaric had not yet succeeded in lifting his throbbing head from his pillow.

The boots was now with him administering soda-water and brandy, and he was pondering in his sickened mind whether, by a manful effort, he could rise and dress himself; or whether he would not throw himself backwards on his coveted bed, and allow Neverbend the triumph of descending alone to the nether world.
Neverbend nearly threw the loaf at the waiter's head.

Wait ten minutes longer! what right had that vile Devonshire napkin-twirler to make to him so base a proposition?
'Bring me my breakfast, sir,' shouted Neverbend, in a voice that made the unfortunate sinner jump out of the room, as though he had been moved by a galvanic battery.
In five minutes, tea made with lukewarm water, and eggs that were not half boiled were brought to the impatient Commissioner.

As a rule Mr.Neverbend, when travelling on the public service, made a practice of enjoying his meals.