“Landlord,” said the stranger to the brown linen host of the Roach House, who was intently gazing at him with the appreciative expression of one who beholds a comic ghost,—­“landlord, after you have finished looking at my head and involuntarily opening your mouth at some occasional peculiarity of my whiskers, I should like to have something to eat.  As you tell me that woodcock is not fit to eat this year, and that broiled chicken is positively prohibited by the Board of Health in consequence of the sickly season, you may bring me some pork and beans, and some crackers.  Bring plenty of crackers, landlord, for I’m uncommon fond of crackers.  By absorbing the superfluous moisture in the head, they clear the brain and make it more subtle.”

Having been served with the wholesome country fare he had ordered, together with a glass of the heady native wine called applejack, the gentleman had but just moved a slice of pork from its bed in the beans, when, with much interest, he closely inspected the spot of vegetables he had uncovered, and expressed the belief that there was something alive in it.

“Landlord,” said he, musingly, “there is something amongst these beans that I should take for a raisin, if it did not move.”

Placing upon his nose a pair of vast silver spectacles, which gave him an aspect of having two attic windows in his countenance, the landlord bowed his head over the plate until his nose touched the beans, and thoughtfully scrutinized the living raisin.

“As I thought, sir, it is only a water-bug,” he observed, rescuing the insect upon his thumb-nail.  “You need not have been frightened, however, for they never bite.”

Somewhat reassured, the stranger went on eating until his knife encountered resistance in the secondary layer of beans; when he once more inspected the dish, with marked agitation.

“Can this be a skewer, down here?” inquired he, prodding at some hard, springy object with his fork.

The host of the Roach House bore both fork and object to a window, where the light was less deceptive, and was presently able to announce confidently that the object was only a hair-pin.  Then, observing that his guest looked curiously at a cracker, which, from the gravelly marks on one side, seemed to have been dug out of the earth, like a potato, he hastened to obviate all complaint in that line by carefully wiping every individual cracker with his pocket handkerchief.

“And now, landlord,” said the stranger, at last, pulling a couple of long, unidentified hairs from his mouth as he hurriedly retired from the meal, “I suppose you are wondering who I am?”

“Well, sir,” was the frank answer, “I can’t deny that there are points about you to make a plain man like myself thoughtful.  There’s that about your hair, sir, with the middle-parting on top and the side-parting behind, to give a plain person the impression that your brain must be slightly turned, and that, by rights, your face ought to be where your neck is.  Neither can I deny, sir, that the curling of your whiskers the wrong way, and their peculiarity in remaining entirely still while your mouth is going, are circumstances calculated to excite the liveliest apprehensions of those who wish you well.”