The landlord observed it, and said-- "It's chilly weather for travelling, to be sure.

Maybe you'd be better down-stairs in the coffee-room, after all." I felt that this was probable enough.

But it seemed a pity to have put him to the pains of lighting this fire for nothing.

So I promised him I should be comfortable enough.
He appeared to be relieved, and asked me what I would drink with my dinner.

"There's beer--I brew it myself; and sherry--" I said I would try his beer.
"And a bottle of sound port to follow ?" Port upon home-brewed beer! But I had dared it often enough in my Oxford days, and a long evening lay before me, with a snug armchair, and a fire fit to roast a sheep.