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Miss Fouracres looked at him as if in surprise, her left hand clasping her chin. 'Ah, you'd soon get tired of it, sir. 'I shouldn't! No, I'm sure I shouldn't. I like this life. It suits me. I like it a thousand times better than teaching in a school. 'That's your fancy, sir. As Miss Fouracres spoke a sound from the house drew her attention; some one had entered the inn. 'A customer? said Mr.
Ruddiman again ascended the hill, and, after listening patiently to the narrative which he had heard fifty times, came to an arrangement with Mr. Fouracres about the room he wished to rent for the holidays. The terms were very moderate, and the under-master congratulated himself on this prudent step. He felt sure that a couple of months at the Pig and Whistle would be anything but disagreeable.
He said to me I'm speaking of His Royal Highness, you understand; I hope you understand that, sir? 'Oh, perfectly! 'His words were "Very seasonable weather, Mr. Fouracres." I'm not likely to forget what he said; so it's no use you or any one else trying to make out that he didn't say that. I tell you he did! "Very season weather, Mr. Fouracres" calling me by name, just like that.
By ten o'clock the house was closed, and all through the night no sound disturbed the peace of the Pig and Whistle. The morrow passed without news of Mr. Fouracres. On the morning after, just as Mr. Ruddiman was finishing his breakfast, alone in the parlour, he heard a loud cry of distress from the front part of the inn.
Familiars of the inn country-folk of the immediate neighbourhood of course began to comment on the state of things, joking among themselves about Mr. Ruddiman's activity behind the bar. The under-master himself was in an uneasy frame of mind. When Miss Fouracres' aunt had gone, he paced for an hour or two about the garden; the hostess was serving cyclists.
It's late. They stood a few paces apart. Mr. Ruddiman had one hand in his waistcoat pocket, the other behind his back; Miss Fouracres was fingering her chin. 'I've been wondering, said the under-master in a diffident voice, 'how you'll manage all alone, Miss Fouracres. 'Well, sir, was the equally diffident reply, 'I've been wondering too.
But as this remark may easily convey a false impression, it must be added that Miss Fouracres was a very discreet, well-spoken, deliberate person, of at least two-and-thirty. Mr. Ruddiman had known her for more than a year before anything save brief civilities passed between them.
It was the first time that his daughter had ventured to express herself so unmistakably. 'The Pig and Whistle! he exclaimed. 'A pothouse! I who have kept an hotel and entertained His Royal Highness. You speak like an ignorant woman. Hold your tongue, and don't dare to let me hear your voice again until to-morrow morning! Miss Fouracres obeyed him.
On this point he came into conflict with the owner of the property, and, having behaved very violently, received notice that his lease, just expiring, would not be renewed. Whereupon what should Mr. Fouracres do but purchase land and begin to build for himself an hotel twice as large as that he must shortly quit.
She was a dry, keen, elderly woman, chiefly interested in the question of her deceased brother's property, which proved to be insignificant enough. Meanwhile the inquest was held, and all the countryside talked of Mr. Fouracres, whose story, of course, was published in full detail by the newspapers.
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