Two Days With the Quorn {First Day) 151 



like the discharge of a shot gun. The train starts. The new 

 man feels heated and lets down the window. The other nine 

 passengers, cliilled to the marrow, sit in the draught while the 

 man cools liis Scotch. 



Walking to the station, his boots collected a load of mud, 

 but by the time he reached liis corner he had them fairly well 

 cleaned. He left the mud on the gentlemen's trousers and the 

 ladies' dresses as he passed to his seat. This is railway travel 

 in England. This may seem to many of my readers an exag- 

 geration. I assure them that it is not. 



This is my apology for feeling cross at the end of the 

 journey that landed me in Leicester. The trouble is that when 

 you get chilled through, there is not a stove or furnace in all 

 England (that I ever saw) where you can get warm. Grin 

 and bear it, or rather "take Scotch-and-put-up-with-it," is the 

 only resource. 



When I arrived at the Bay Mare Inn the landlady called 

 a chambermaid to show me my room (chambermaids in 

 England do the duties of the bell boys as w^ell) and the 

 "boots" to take up my luggage. The chambermaid Avears 

 a wliite cap and the "boots" an apron of green baize cloth as 

 a badge of their respective duties. There are no bootblacks 

 in England as in the States. You put your shoes in the hall 

 at night and the "boots" cleans them. 



]My room is as damp and chilly as a sepulchre. The fog 

 has penetrated my clothing until I feel like a corpse. I am 

 half desperate, at least reckless. 



"Well!" I said to the chambermaid who stood in the door- 

 way wringing and chafing her hands with the cold, her nose as 

 red as her hands, her features pinched, "What's the matter?" 



"Please, sir." 



"What's the matter? Why do you stand there wringing 

 your hands?" 



"Oh, I's awful cold, sir." 



