Presently I found myself in the midst of a poor, dull,
ill-lighted town.
"Where is the inn?" said I to a man.
"The inn, sir; you have passed it. The inn is yonder," he
continued, pointing towards the noble-looking edifice.
"What, is that the inn?" said I.
"Yes, sir, the railroad hotel - and a first-rate hotel it is."
"And are there no other inns?"
"Yes, but they are all poor places. No gent puts up at them - all
the gents by the railroad put up at the railroad hotel."
What was I to do? after turning up my nose at the railroad, was I
to put up at its hotel? Surely to do so would be hardly acting
with consistency. "Ought I not rather to go to some public-house,
frequented by captains of fishing smacks, and be put in a bed a
foot too short for me," said I, as I reflected on my last night's
couch at Mr Pritchard's. "No, that won't do - I shall go to the
hotel, I have money in my pocket, and a person with money in his
pocket has surely a right to be inconsistent if he pleases."
So I turned back and entered the railroad hotel with lofty port and
with sounding step, for I had twelve sovereigns in my pocket,
besides a half one, and some loose silver, and feared not to
encounter the gaze of any waiter or landlord in the land.
