"Ten years, Master Cyrus. First as cook, and afterwards as mistress. My husband had this inn from his father, but was letting it go to wreck and ruin when I arrived, owing to his being fat. So he married me, so that I could look after it. I would only stay when I saw the wedding-ring."
"Owing to his being fat?" I questioned, rather puzzled.
"Come Master Cyrus and see?" said Mrs. Gilfin, and led me into a low-ceiling bar of the Dickens epoch, all white-wash and smoky oaken beams. Here I beheld a pre-historic ingle-nook in which was placed a capacious armchair, and in it was seated the fattest man I had ever set eyes on. He smoked a churchwarden pipe and drank beer from a huge tankard placed on a small table beside him. "This is my husband," said Mrs. Gilfin and introduced me.
Mr. Gilfin, who smoked with his eyes closed, opened them sleepily! "Glad to see you sir. I hope you'll be comfortable. The missus will look after you. It's fine weather for this time of the year, although I ain't been out to see!" and having made these original remarks, he closed his eyes again and pulled at his pipe, a large mass of adipose, contented and purely animal.
"He doesn't talk much," explained Mrs. Gilfin, beaming through her spectacles on her Daniel Lambert, "but folk come for miles to see his size. He don't go out of doors either, Master Cyrus, but sits there smoking and eating and drinking so as to keep himself in good condition to be a draw."
"To be a draw?" I echoed, while Mr. Gilfin blinked drowsily.
"Customers come to look at him, and wish they were like him, Master Cyrus. I look after things, but John is the attraction. The Burly Beast of Burwain they call him, and though it ain't polite, it makes people curious to call. And you can see, Master Cyrus," added Mrs. Gilfin, as she left her husband to his pipe and beer, "how the inn, with such a man, was going to wreck and ruin. It was a good job he married me, not but what I'm thankful to be the mistress of the Robin Redbreast. It's poor work being a cook at my age, and under mistresses who don't know their place ain't in the kitchen. Your poor dear ma, now, Master Cyrus, always stopped in the doring-room, as a lady should."
I assented, as there was little use in arguing with Mrs. Gilfin, who--as I knew of old--always had an answer to the most pertinent objections. Although not so fat as her spouse, she was still very stout, and her looks, along with those of John, said a good deal for the style of living obtainable at the inn. I engaged the sitting-room in which we had our first conversation and a bedroom immediately over head. Then I had my traps taken into the house, and having stowed away the Rippler in a convenient outhouse, sat down to besiege Burwain in due form. After dinner--and a very good dinner it was too--I told Mrs. Gilfin as much as I thought necessary, which did not include any reference to the discovery of the cloak.