which they meant to drive to watch the Highlanders march by. They were
very keen to bate him a shilling, and as indifferent as four oysters to
the issues at stake.

Riding into the inn-yard, I shouted to the host to get me his best
dinner, and, while it was preparing, I overlooked the grooming and baiting
of Sultan. I left him comfortable and content, and strolled indoors to
look after my own needs.

Though on the London road, and only fifteen miles from the scene of
action, the inn was quiet. I learned from the host that a courier had
galloped through an hour before, spurring southwards, and cried out from
the saddle that the bare-legs were only five miles from Derby when he
left. Earlier in the day a cart had driven through loaded up with the
gowns of the town dignitaries, "going to Leicester to be done up,"
explained the host, delighted with his own shrewdness.

A hunger-bitten traveller with a good dinner in front of him commonly
pays no attention for the time being to anything else. I found two men in
the guest-room, and, after a civil greeting, which made one of them open
his eyes and mouth very uncivilly, I sat down to eat, very content with
the fare set before me.

As my hunger steadily abated before a steady attack on a cold roast
sirloin of most commendable quality, I began to take more interest in the
two men. In fact, more interest in them was forced on me by the beginnings
of a pretty quarrel between them, and by the time I had got to the cheese,
they, utterly regardless of my presence, were at it hammer and tongs. The
row was about a horse-deal lately passed between them, and there are few
things men can quarrel about more easily or more vigorously. The yokel who