had tasted
a novel excitement, and the thrill was still in his blood He walked
rapidly through the winter air towards his lodgings, dressed there in
his best, and sallied out again, making straight for the Cock tavern.
What suggested the idea to him he never knew, but he meant to take a
pint of port with Will Waterproof at that famous hostel, which then
stood on its own classic ground. The old Cock was not a palatial house,
but it was splendid to the raw country lad, and he was half afraid to
enter. He strode in looking as mannish and as townlike as he could, and
seated himself in one of the boxes alone. A waiter approached him, a
rotund man, in gouty-looking slippers, with a napkin across his arm.
Was this, he wondered, the steward of the can, 'a shade more plump than
common '?

'Give me a chop,' said Paul, 'and a pint of port'

'Chop, sir,' said the waiter; 'yes, sir. And a pint of----'

'Port,' said Paul, and, being ignorant of the ways of such places,
pulled out a handful of silver and asked 'How much?'

'Bring the bill in due course, sir,' said the water gravely, and moving
away, called the order for the chop up the chimney, as it seemed to the
visitor, and then rolled off stealthily in the gouty slippers in search
of the port. He brought it in a small decanter, which he polished
assiduously as he walked along. Paul thought it looked very little for
a pint, but made no comment. The waiter poured out a glass and retired.
The experimenter had tasted elderberry once, but he knew no more of
wine. The draught had relish fiery new, and it seemed to warm him
everywhere at once. His mind grew exquisitely bright, and his thoughts
were astonishingly vivid. He began to improvise verses, and they came
with an ease which was quite startling. They seemed to unroll themselves
before him, to reveal themselves line by line as if they had been in
existence long ago, and some spell had suddenly made them visible to his
intelligence. It was a moment of singular triumph, and it lasted until
the grave waiter laid his chop before him. He ate keenly, and finished
his pint of port A sort of beatific indolence was upon him, and he had
no wish to move, but he thought the waiter looked at him, and he was
uncertain as to whether he had a right to stay. He summoned the man and
paid him, and gave him sixpence for himself. Then he walked into the
street, but the exercise was not like walking. His step was quite firm
and steady, but his whole