'Twelve long miles,' repeated the landlord.

'Is it a good road?' inquired Nicholas.

'Very bad,' said the landlord. As of course, being a landlord, he would
say.

'I want to get on,' observed Nicholas, hesitating. 'I scarcely know what
to do.'

'Don't let me influence you,' rejoined the landlord. 'I wouldn't go on
if it was me.'

'Wouldn't you?' asked Nicholas, with the same uncertainty.

'Not if I knew when I was well off,' said the landlord. And having said
it he pulled up his apron, put his hands into his pockets, and, taking
a step or two outside the door, looked down the dark road with an
assumption of great indifference.

A glance at the toil-worn face of Smike determined Nicholas, so without
any further consideration he made up his mind to stay where he was.

The landlord led them into the kitchen, and as there was a good fire he
remarked that it was very cold. If there had happened to be a bad one he
would have observed that it was very warm.

'What can you give us for supper?' was Nicholas's natural question.

'Why--what would you like?' was the landlord's no less natural answer.