Wherever
he moved, marks of the most cordial amity were shown him, hands
were thrust out to grasp his, nor were looks of respect,
admiration, nay, almost of adoration, wanting. I observed one
fellow, as the landlord advanced, take the pipe out of his mouth,
and gaze upon him with a kind of grin of wonder, probably much the
same as his ancestor, the Saxon lout of old, put on when he saw his
idol Thur, dressed in a new kirtle. To avoid the press, I got into
a corner, where on a couple of chairs sat two respectable-looking
individuals, whether farmers or sow-gelders, I know not, but highly
respectable-looking, who were discoursing about the landlord.
"Such another," said one, "you will not find in a summer's day."
"No, nor in the whole of England," said the other. "Tom of
Hopton," said the first: "ah! Tom of Hopton," echoed the other;
"the man who could beat Tom of Hopton could beat the world." "I
glory in him," said the first. "So do I," said the second, "I'll
back him against the world. Let me hear any one say anything
against him, and if I don't--" then, looking at me, he added, "have
you anything to say against him, young man?" "Not a word," said I,
"save that he regularly puts me out." "He'll put any one out,"
said the man, "any one out of conceit with himself;" then, lifting
a mug to his mouth, he added, with a hiccough, "I drink his
health.
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