The waitress
summoned a lethargic, round-bellied man from an inner parlour, who
bowed as well as his waist would let him, and straddled out to the
stables to repeat the order. Somewhat pleased to find he had not
been recognised, Tristram sauntered up the dusky passage and forth at
the front-door. As he passed out leisurably, he took careless note
of a party of three men seated a few paces to the right of the door
around a rough wooden table. On the other hand, the effect of his
exit upon this party was extraordinary. For a moment they gazed
after him, their faces expressing sheer amazement. Then they
whispered together and stared again. Finally all three stood on
their legs and buckled on their sword-belts. Two of them started off
to follow Tristram, who had by this time reached the street corner,
and was gazing up at the house fronts on each hand with rapt
interest. The third man waited until they had gone a dozen yards,
and then blew a whistle. In less than half a minute he was joined by
the man from the stable-yard, and after a short colloquy this pair
also linked arms and strolled up the street.
It was drawing towards sunset, and lights began to appear in several
of the houses as Tristram passed along. The few foot-passengers in
the street wished him "Good night" in the Dutch tongue, and he
answered their salutations amiably in English, guessing the good will
in their voices.
Pages:
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178