The hostess got into a fume.  I should observe that she was a brisk, coquettish woman; a little of a shrew, and something of a slammerkin, but very pretty withal; with a nincompoop for a husband, as shrews are apt to have.  She rated the servants roundly for their negligence in sending up so bad a breakfast, but said not a word against the stout gentleman; by which I clearly perceived that he must be a man of consequence, entitled to make a noise and to give trouble at a country inn.  Other eggs, and ham, and bread and butter, were sent up.  They appeared to be more graciously received; at least there was no further complaint.

I had not made many turns about the travellers’-room, when there was another ringing.  Shortly afterwards there was a stir and an inquest about the house.  The stout gentleman wanted the Times or the Chronicle newspaper.  I set him down, therefore, for a whig; or rather, from his being so absolute and lordly where he had a chance, I suspected him of being a radical.  Hunt, I had heard, was a large man; “who knows,” thought I, “but it is Hunt himself!”

My curiosity began to be awakened.  I inquired of the waiter who was this stout gentleman that was making all this stir; but I could get no information; nobody seemed to know his name.  The landlords of bustling inns seldom trouble their heads about the names or occupations of their transient guests.  The colour of a coat, the shape or size of the person, is enough to suggest a travelling name.  It is either the tall gentleman, or the short gentleman, or the gentleman in black, or the gentleman in snuff-colour; or, as in the present instance, the stout gentleman.  A designation of the kind once hit on answers every purpose, and saves all further inquiry.

Rain—­rain—­rain! pitiless, ceaseless rain!  No such thing as putting a foot out of doors, and no occupation nor amusement within.  By and by I heard some one walking overhead.  It was in the stout gentleman’s room.  He evidently was a large man, by the heaviness of his tread; and an old man, from his wearing such creaking soles.  “He is doubtless,” thought I, “some rich old square-toes, of regular habits, and is now taking exercise after breakfast.”

I now read all the advertisements of coaches and hotels that were stuck about the mantel-piece.  The Lady’s Magazine had become an abomination to me; it was as tedious as the day itself.  I wandered out, not knowing what to do, and ascended again to my room.  I had not been there long, when there was a squall from a neighbouring bed-room.  A door opened and slammed violently; a chamber-maid, that I had remarked for having a ruddy, good-humoured face, went down-stairs in a violent flurry.  The stout gentleman had been rude to her.

This sent a whole host of my deductions to the deuce in a moment.  This unknown personage could not be an old gentleman; for old gentlemen are not apt to be so obstreperous to chamber-maids.  He could not be a young gentleman; for young gentlemen are not apt to inspire such indignation.  He must be a middle-aged man, and confounded ugly into the bargain, or the girl would not have taken the matter in such terrible dudgeon.  I confess I was sorely puzzled.