After five miles on a primitive road we arrived at
the hotel very late.
MacFadden, assuring us that if we only kept quiet he would see us
through in spite of any Scots innkeeper, led the way.
The landlady, a dour woman, appeared.
"Good morning, Madam," began Mac politely.
"Will you be Mr. Willoughby?" she replied.
"No," said Mac truthfully, assuming a puzzled expression.
"Weel, then," resumed the lady, addressing Sylvia, who happened to be
close behind, "will you be Mrs. Willoughby?"
Molly sniggered; Sylvia reddened and answered hastily, "No, I won't!"
at which Willoughby sighed audibly.
"What I wanted to ask you was whether perhaps you could be so kind
as to give us a bit of bread and cheese or something," said Mac
ingratiatingly. "Of course one doesn't expect a proper lunch in these
places without ordering it beforehand."
"And those that order beforehand dinna come," she replied with some
asperity. "A pairty of six ordered for yesterday then they telegraphs
to say they mean to-day, and now they're no here and the time lang
gone by. I thocht ye were the pairty at first."
"What a shame!" murmured MacFadden sympathetically.
"Ay, if they had turned up they should hae had their lunch, and paid
for it too," said the good lady grimly.
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