In less than five
minutes the Englishman and his luggage were stored away in the carriage.
His ticket had been examined by the station-master, and smilingly
accepted. There were more bows and salutes, and the carriage drove off.
Mr. Guy Poynton leaned back amongst the mouldy leather upholstery, and
smiled complacently.
"Easiest thing in the world to get on in a foreign country with a phrase
book and your wits," he remarked to himself. "Jove, I am hungry!"
He drove into a village of half a dozen houses or so, which reminded him
of the pictured abodes of Noah and his brethren. An astonished
innkeeper, whose morning attire apparently consisted of trousers, shirt,
and spectacles, ushered him into a bare room with a trestle table. Guy
produced his phrase book.
"Hungry!" he said vociferously. "Want to eat! Coffee!"
The man appeared to understand, but in case there should have been any
mistake Guy followed him into the kitchen. The driver, who had lost no
time, was already there, with a long glass of beer before him. Guy
produced a mark, laid it on the table, touched himself, the innkeeper,
and the driver, and pointed to the beer.
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