Book One - Chapter 11 Which Relates a Brief Passage-At-Arms at The Chequers Inn

In due season I came into Tonbridge town, and following the High
Street, presently observed a fine inn upon the right-hand side of
the way, which, as I remember, is called "The Chequers." And
here were divers loiterers, lounging round the door, or seated
upon the benches; but the eyes of all were turned the one way.

And presently, as I paused before the inn, to look up at its
snow-white plaster, and massive cross-beams, there issued from the
stable yard one in a striped waistcoat, with top-boots and a red
face, who took a straw from behind his ear, and began to chew it
meditatively; to whom I now addressed myself.

"Good afternoon!" said I.

"Arternoon!" he answered.

"A fine day!" said I.

"Is it?" said he.

"Why--to be sure it is," said I, somewhat taken aback by his
manner; "to be sure it is."

"Oh!" said he, and shifted the straw very dexterously from one
corner of his mouth to the other, by some unseen agency, and
stared up the road harder than ever.

"What are you looking at?" I inquired.

"'Ill," said he.

"And why do you look at the hill?"

"Mail," said he.

"Oh!" said I.

"Ah!" said he.

"Is it the London coach?"

"Ah!" said he.