"Any political news?"
"Really, sir, we don't meddle with politics," replied Tiffles, sharply.
The landlord looked at him with an expression of pity "Oh! to be sure
not. You belong to the pannyrama. I recolleck that the last circus folks
that come here never talked about politics. Are you Professor Wesley?"
"I am," said Tiffles.
"I merely wanted to say," continued the landlord, "that six of my
lodgers are goin' to the pannyrama on my recommendation. I have a wife,
sister-in-law and five children."
Tiffles took the hint. "I will hand you a complimentary ticket for
yourself and family," said he.
"Oh, no! by no means!" replied the landlord. "I wouldn't think of taking
it."
Mr. Pigworth then ushered his guests into the large, uncomfortable
apartment known as the "best room" in all country hotels. The ceiling
was low; there were three windows with small panes, the sashes of which
rattled in the wind; a rag carpet covered the floor; an old bureau,
topped off with a dirty white cloth, a rickety table similarly draped,
four cane-bottomed chairs, and a huge wooden spitbox filled with
sawdust, stood at intervals around.
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