He had rose pretty early this morning; but, though his wounds were far from threatening any danger, he was so sore with the bruises, that it was impossible for him to think of undertaking a journey yet; Mr Adams, therefore, whose stock was visibly decreased with the expenses of supper and breakfast, and which could not survive that day's scoring, began to consider how it was possible to recruit it. At last he cried, "He had luckily hit on a sure method, and, though it would oblige him to return himself home together with Joseph, it mattered not much." He then sent for Tow-wouse, and, taking him into another room, told him "he wanted to borrow three guineas, for which he would put ample security into his hands." Tow-wouse, who expected a watch, or ring, or something of double the value, answered, "He believed he could furnish him." Upon which Adams, pointing to his saddle-bag, told him, with a face and voice full of solemnity, "that there were in that bag no less than nine volumes of manuscript sermons, as well worth a hundred pounds as a shilling was worth twelve pence, and that he would deposit one of the volumes in his hands by way of pledge; not doubting but that he would have the honesty to return it on his repayment of the money; for otherwise he must be a very great loser, seeing that every volume would at least bring him ten pounds, as he had been informed by a neighbouring clergyman in the country; for," said he, "as to my own part, having never yet dealt in printing, I do not pretend to ascertain the exact value of such things."
Tow-wouse, who was a little surprized at the pawn, said (and not without some truth), "That he was no judge of the price of such kind of goods; and as for money, he really was very short." Adams answered, "Certainly he would not scruple to lend him three guineas on what was undoubtedly worth at least ten." The landlord replied, "He did not believe he had so much money in the house, and besides, he was to make up a sum. He was very confident the books were of much higher value, and heartily sorry it did not suit him." He then cried out, "Coming sir!" though nobody called; and ran downstairs without any fear of breaking his neck.
Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this disappointment, nor knew he what further stratagem to try. He immediately applied to his pipe, his constant friend and comfort in his afflictions; and, leaning over the rails, he devoted himself to meditation, assisted by the inspiring fumes of tobacco.
He had on a nightcap drawn over his wig, and a short greatcoat, which half covered his cassock — a dress which, added to something comical enough in his countenance, composed a figure likely to attract the eyes of those who were not over given to observation.
Whilst he was smoaking his pipe in this posture, a coach and six, with a numerous attendance, drove into the inn. There alighted from the coach a young fellow and a brace of pointers, after which another young fellow leapt from the box, and shook the former by the hand; and both, together with the dogs, were instantly conducted by Mr Tow-wouse into an apartment; whither as they passed, they entertained themselves with the following short facetious dialogue: —
"You are a pretty fellow for a coachman, Jack!" says he from the coach; "you had almost overturned us just now." — "Pox take you!" says the coachman; "if I had only broke your neck, it would have been saving somebody else the trouble; but I should have been sorry for the pointers." — "Why, you son of a b — ," answered the other, "if nobody could shoot better than you, the pointers would be of no use." — "D — n me," says the coachman, "I will shoot with you five guineas a shot." — "You be hanged," says the other; "for five guineas you shall shoot at my a — ." — "Done," says the coachman; "I'll pepper you better than ever you was peppered by Jenny Bouncer." — "Pepper your grandmother," says the other: "Here's Tow-wouse will let you shoot at him for a shilling a time." — "I know his honour better," cries Tow-wouse; "I never saw a surer shot at a partridge. Every man misses now and then; but if I could shoot half as well as his honour, I would desire no better livelihood than I could get by my gun." — "Pox on you," said the coachman, "you demolish more game now than your head's worth. There's a bitch, Tow-wouse: by G — she never blinked a bird in her life." — "I have a puppy, not a year old, shall hunt with her for a hundred," cries the other gentleman. — "Done," says the coachman: "but you will be pox'd before you make the bett." — "If you have a mind for a bett," cries the coachman, "I will match my spotted dog with your white bitch for a hundred, play or pay." — "Done," says the other: "and I'll run Baldface against Slouch with you for another." — "No," cries he from the box; "but I'll venture Miss Jenny against Baldface, or Hannibal either." — "Go to the devil," cries he from the coach: "I will make every bett your own way, to be sure! I will match Hannibal with Slouch for a thousand, if you dare; and I say done first."
They were now arrived; and the reader will be very contented to leave them, and repair to the kitchen; where Barnabas, the surgeon, and an exciseman were smoaking their pipes over some cyder-and; and where the servants, who attended the two noble gentlemen we have just seen alight, were now arrived.