In due time a great uproar in the inn-yard announced the arrival of
the stage, an unwieldy machine, carrying six inside, and dragged by as
many horses. The Doctor, opening the door of his apartment, which
led on to a gallery that ran round the inn-yard, leaned over the
balustrade with his pipe in his mouth, and watched proceedings. It so
happened that the stage was to discharge one of its passengers at this
town, who had come from the north, and the Doctor recognised in him a
neighbour and brother magistrate, one Squire Mountmeadow, an important
personage in his way, the terror of poachers, and somewhat of an
oracle on the bench, as it was said that he could take a deposition
without the assistance of his clerk. Although, in spite of the
ostler's lanterns, it was very dark, it was impossible ever to be
unaware of the arrival of Squire Mountmeadow; for he was one of those
great men who take care to remind the world of their dignity by the
attention which they require on every occasion.
'Coachman!' said the authoritative voice of the Squire. 'Where is the
coachman? Oh! you are there, sir, are you? Postilion! Where is the
postilion? Oh! you are there, sir, are you? Host! Where is the host?
Oh! you are there, sir, are you? Waiter! Where is the waiter? I say
where is the waiter?'
'Coming, please your worship!'
'How long am I to wait? Oh! you are there, sir, are you? Coachman!'
'Your worship!'
'Postilion!'
'Yes, your worship!'
'Host!'
'Your worship's servant!'
'Waiter!'
'Your worship's honour's humble servant!'
'I am going to alight!'
All four attendants immediately bowed, and extended their arms to
assist this very great man; but Squire Mountmeadow, scarcely deigning
to avail himself of their proffered assistance, and pausing on each
step, looking around him with his long, lean, solemn visage, finally
reached terra firma in safety, and slowly stretched his tall, ungainly
figure.
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