"I know," he assented. "My virtue has been its own reward--and
punishment. If I had allowed you to go your way to the proverbial dogs,
after whose society gilded youths like yourself appear to be always
hankering, I should not be sitting here with cold water running down my
back and surrounded by Nature in her gloomiest and dampest aspects.
Only once have I deviated from the life of consistent selfishness at
which every sensible man should aim, and see how I am punished! I do
not wish to be unduly inquisitive, but I should like to know where the
blazes we are going, and why we do not make for a decent hotel--if
there is such a thing in these desolate wilds."
Stafford handed him the reins so that he himself might get out his
cigar-case, and with some little difficulty, and assisted by
Pottinger's soaked hat, the two gentlemen got their cigars alight.
"There isn't a decent hotel for miles," explained Stafford. "There is
only a small inn at a little place called Carysford. I looked it out on
the map. I thought we'd drive there today, put up for the night to give
the horses a rest, and go on to this place of my governor's the next
day. It's on the opposite side of the lake."
He jerked his whip to the right.
"Which side, what lake?" asked Howard, hopelessly. "I see nothing of
the lake, nothing but mist and sodden hills. No wonder the word 'poet'
instinctively arouses one's animosity. When I think of the number of
well-meaning and inspired idiots who have written reams of poetry about
this place, I feel at this present moment as if I could cheerfully rend
even a Wordsworth, a Southey, or a Coleridge; and I look back with
remorse upon the hours, the throbs of admiration, I have expended upon
what I once deemed their inspired pages. If I remember rightly, most of
the lake poets went off their heads; when I gaze around me I must admit
that I am not surprised."
Stafford laughed absently; he was quite accustomed to Howard's cynical
vein.
"They're all right enough," he said. "That is, I suppose they are, for
I never read any of 'em since I left school. Oh, yes, they're right
enough about the beauty of the place; you should see it on a fine day."
"Has anyone seen it on a fine day?" inquired Howard, with the innocent
air of one simply seeking information. "I asked a countryman in the
train if it always rained here, and he replied, 'No; it sometimes
snows.'"