Lolling in a chair by one side of the fire was an
individual at the sight of whom I almost started. He was an
immense man, weighing I should say at least eighteen stone, with
brown hair, thinnish whiskers, half-ruddy, half-tallowy complexion,
and dressed in a brown sporting coat, drab breeches, and yellow-
topped boots - in every respect the exact image of the
Wolverhampton gent or hog-merchant who had appeared to me in my
dream at Llangollen, whilst asleep before the fire. Yes, the very
counterpart of that same gent looked this enormous fellow, save and
except that he did not appear to be more than seven or eight and
twenty, whereas the hog-merchant looked at least fifty. Laying my
satchel down I took a seat and ordered the maid to get some dinner
for me, and then asked what had become of the waiter, Tom Jenkins.
"He is not here at present, sir," said the freckled maid; "he is at
his own house."
"And why is he not here?" said I.
"Because he is not wanted, sir; he only comes in summer when the
house is full of people."
And having said this the little freckled damsel left the room.
"Reither a cool night, sir!" said the enormous man after we had
been alone together a few minutes.
