"_I_ generally patronises the 'King o' Prooshia' for beer.

It won't make your hair curl, nor yet prevent your seein' a hole dro' a ladder: but perhaps neither o' these is your objec'." Mr.Fogo, a little bewildered, replied modestly that he pursued neither of these aims.

Caleb led the way across the quay, and they ascended the steps of the "King of Prussia" together.
"My object," said Mr.Fogo timidly, as they were seated together in the low-roofed parlour before two foaming mugs--"My object was this.
In the first place, I like your look." "Same to you, sir," said Caleb, and acknowledged the compliment with a draught, "though 'tes what my gal said afore she desarted me for a Rooshan." "Are you a single man, then ?" "To be sure, sir." "So much the better--but I will talk of that presently.

I, too, am a single man, with rather peculiar tastes.

One of these is solitude.
I had heard of Troy as a place where I was likely to find this, though my experience of this morning--" "Never mind, sir.