CHAPTER XXXIII.
Boxing Harry--Mr Bos--Black Robin--Drovers--Commercial Travellers.
I arrived at the hostelry of Mr Pritchard without meeting any adventure worthy of being marked down.

I went into the little parlour, and, ringing the bell, was presently waited upon by Mrs Pritchard, a nice matronly woman, whom I had not before seen, of whom I inquired what I could have for dinner.
"This is no great place for meat," said Mrs Pritchard, "that is fresh meat, for sometimes a fortnight passes without anything being killed in the neighbourhood.

I am afraid at present there is not a bit of fresh meat to be had.

What we can get you for dinner I do not know, unless you are willing to make shift with bacon and eggs." "I'll tell you what I'll do," said I, "I will have the bacon and eggs with tea and bread-and-butter, not forgetting a pint of ale--in a word, I will box Harry." "I suppose you are a commercial gent," said Mrs Pritchard.
"Why do you suppose me a commercial gent ?" said I.

"Do I look one ?" "Can't say you do much," said Mrs Pritchard; "you have no rings on your fingers, nor a gilt chain at your waistcoat-pocket, but when you said 'box Harry,' I naturally took you to be one of the commercial gents, for when I was at Liverpool I was told that that was a word of theirs." "I believe the word properly belongs to them," said I.