By the time he came out of the wood upon the open road, his high spirits had gone suddenly down, and the visions of an hour ago showed stale and lifeless to his clouded eyes. After a day's ride and a poor dinner, the ten-mile walk had left him with aching limbs, and a growing conviction that despite his former aspirations, he was fast going to the devil along the tavern road. When at last he swung open the whitewashed gate before the inn, and threw the light of his lantern on the great oaks in the yard, the relief he felt was hardly brighter than despair, and it made very little difference, he grimly told himself, whether he put up for the night or kept the road forever. With a clatter he went into the little wooden porch and knocked upon the door.
He was still knocking when a window was raised suddenly above him, and a man's voice called out, “if he wanted a place for night-hawks to go on to hell.” Then, being evidently a garrulous body, the speaker leaned comfortably upon the sill, and sent down a string of remarks, which Dan promptly shortened with an oath.
“Hold your tongue, Jack Hicks,” he cried, angrily, “and come down and open this door before I break it in. I've walked ten miles to-night and I can't stand here till morning. How long has it been since you had a guest?”
“There was six of 'em changin' stages this mornin',” drawled Jack, in reply, still hanging from the sill. “I gave 'em a dinner of fried chicken and battercakes, and two of 'em being Yankees hadn't never tasted it befo'--and a month ago one dropped in to spend the night--”
He broke off hastily, for his wife had joined him at the window, and as Dan looked up with the flash of the lantern in his face, she gave a cry and called his name.
“Put on your clothes and go down, you fool,” she said, “it's Mr. Dan--don't you see it's Mr. Dan, and he's as white as yo' nightshirt. Go down, I tell you,--go down and let him in.” There was a skurrying in the room and on the staircase, and a moment later the door was flung open and a lamp flashed in the darkness.
“Walk in, suh, walk right in,” said Jack Hicks, hospitably, “day or night you're welcome--as welcome as the Major himself.” He drew back and stood with the lamplight full upon him--a loose, ill-proportioned figure, with a flabby face and pale blue eyes set under swollen lids.