“I didn’t know they had any private sitting-rooms in this shanty,” said Edward Henry.

Mr. Bryany, having finished with the fire, fronted him, shovel in hand, with a remarkable air of consummate wisdom, and replied: 

“You can generally get what you want, if you insist on having it, even in this ‘shanty.’”

Edward Henry regretted his use of the word “shanty.”  Inhabitants of the Five Towns may allow themselves to twit the historic and excellent Turk’s Head, but they do not extend the privilege to strangers.  And in justice to the Turk’s Head it is to be clearly stated that it did no more to cow and discourage travellers than any other provincial hotel in England.  It was a sound and serious English provincial hotel, and it linked century to century.

Said Mr. Bryany: 

“’Merica’s the place for hotels.”

“Yes, I expect it is.”

“Been to Chicago?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Mr. Bryany, as he removed his overcoat, could be seen politely forbearing to raise his eyebrows.

“Of course you’ve been to New York?”

Edward Henry would have given all he had in his pockets to be able to say that he had been to New York.  But by some inexplicable negligence he had hitherto omitted to go to New York, and being a truthful person (except in the gravest crises) he was obliged to answer miserably: 

“No, I haven’t.”

Mr. Bryany gazed at him with amazement and compassion, apparently staggered by the discovery that there existed in England a man of the world who had contrived to struggle on for forty years without perfecting his education by a visit to New York.

Edward Henry could not tolerate Mr. Bryany’s look.  It was a look which he had never been able to tolerate on the features of anybody whatsoever.  He reminded himself that his secret object in accompanying Mr. Bryany to the Turk’s Head was to repay Mr. Bryany—­in what coin he knew not yet—­for the aspersions which at the music-hall he had cast upon England in general and upon the Five Towns in particular, and also to get revenge for having been tricked into believing, even for a moment, that there was really a case of hydrophobia at Bleakridge.  It is true that Mr. Bryany was innocent of this deception, which had been accomplished by Robert Brindley, but that was a detail which did not trouble Edward Henry, who lumped his grievances together—­for convenience.

He had been reflecting that some sentimental people, unused to the ways of paternal affection in the Five Towns, might consider him a rather callous father; he had been reflecting, again, that Nellie’s suggestion of blood-poisoning might not be as entirely foolish as feminine suggestions in such circumstances too often are.  But now he put these thoughts away, reassuring himself against hydrophobia anyhow, by the recollection of the definite statement of the Encyclopedia.  Moreover, had he not inspected the wound—­as healthy a wound as you could wish for?