"There is philosophy in the comparison," said Wogan.
"Sir, an innkeeper cannot fail of philosophy if he has his eyes and a
spark of intelligence. The man who took refuge in a tub because the
follies of his fellows so angered him was the greatest fool of them all.
He should have kept an inn on the road to Athens, for then the follies
would have put money into his pocket and made him laugh instead of
growl."
His wife came over to the fireplace and lifted the lid of the pot.
"The supper is ready," said she.
"And perhaps, sir, while you are eating it you can think of a name for
my inn."
"Why, it has a sign-board already," said Wogan, "and a name, too, I
suppose."
"It has a sign-board, but without a device," said the landlord, and
while Wogan drew a chair to the table he explained his predicament.
"There is another inn five miles along the road, and travellers prefer
to make their halt there. They will not stop here. My father, sir, set
it all down to paint. It was his dream, sir, to paint the house from
floor to ceiling; his last words bade me pinch and save until I could
paint. Well, here is the house painted, and I am anxious for a new
device and name which shall obliterate the memory of the other. 'The
Black Eagle' is its old name. Ask any traveller familiar with the road
between Augsburg and Schlestadt, and he will counsel you to avoid 'The
Black Eagle.' You are travelling to Schlestadt, perhaps."
Wogan had started ever so slightly.
"To Strasbourg," he said, and thereafter ate his supper in silence,
taking count with himself. "My friend," so his thoughts ran, "the sooner
you reach Schlestadt the better. Here are you bleating like a sheep at a
mere chance mention of your destination. You have lived too close with
this fine scheme of yours. You need your friends."
Wogan began to be conscious of an unfamiliar sense of loneliness. It
grew upon him that evening while he sat at the table; it accompanied him
up the stairs to bed. Other men of his age were now seated comfortably
by their own hearths, while he was hurrying about Europe, a vagabond
adventurer, risking his life for--and at once the reason why he was
risking his life rose up to convict him a grumbler.
The landlord led him into a room in the front of the house which held a
great canopied bed and little other furniture. There was not even a
curtain to the window. Wogan raised his candle and surveyed the dingy
walls.