FullReads

Hope this inn isn’t a dear one. It’s the smallest I could find in the place, and I don’t think they’re likely to charge for attendance; if they do, it’ll be a swindle, for I ordered eggs and bacon an hour ago, and they’ve not come yet. I wonder what they’ll charge for the eggs and bacon. Suppose there are two eggs, that’ll be 2 pence; and a slice of bacon, 2 pence; bread, 1 penny; tea, 1 penny; that’s 7 pence; oughtn’t to be more than 10 pence at the outside.

Ah, here it comes.

Good supper it was, too, and not much left at the end.

Mean to do Scafell to-morrow. Highest mountain in England, guide-book says. Two fellows in the inn are going, too; but I don’t intend to hang on to them, as they seem to think no end of themselves. They’re Cambridge fellows, and talk as if they could do anything. I’d like to take the shine out of them.

Tuesday, 8 a.m.–Just fancy, the swindlers here charged me 2 shillings for that tea, 2 shillings 6 pence for my bed, and 1 shilling for attendance–5 shillings 6 pence! I call it robbery, and told them so, and said they needn’t suppose they could take me in. They said it was the usual charge, and they didn’t make any difference for small boys, as they found they ate quite as much as grown-up people. The two Cambridge fellows seemed to find something to laugh at in this, and one of them said I didn’t mind being taken in, but I didn’t like being taken in and done for. I suppose he thought this was a joke. Some idiots can grin at anything.

I told the hotel people I should certainly not pay for attendance, as I didn’t consider I had had any. The waiter said very well, my boots would do as well, and they would keep them till I settled the bill, and they had no time to stand fooling about with a whipper-snapper. Of course I had to shell out, as my boots were worth more than the whole bill–although my bootmaker has taken me in pretty well over the hobnails. I told them I should take good care to tell every one what sort of people they were, and I wouldn’t have any breakfast there to pay them out.

Fancy this made them look rather blue, but the lesson will be good for them. Catch me getting done like that again! I’m going to start now, 8 a.m., as I want to get ahead of the Cambridge idiots. Page 54 of the guide-book has all about the scenery at Ambleside.

12 o’clock, Dungeon Ghyl.–Stopping here for lunch. Awful grind up the valley in the sun with an empty stomach. Going in for a 9 pence lunch here. The fellow says the weather is going to break this afternoon, and I’d better mind what I’m up to, going up Scafell Pike. He wants me to take a guide, that’s his little dodge. As if I couldn’t take care of myself! I’ve got it all up in the guide-book, and guess I could find the top blindfold. I’ll laugh if I get up before the Cambridge fellows. They’ll probably funk it, though, or miss the way, and have to get me to give them a leg up. It’ll be a good lesson for them.

Don’t think much of the inn here, so I’m glad I shan’t be putting up here for the night. The waiter looks as if he expects to be tipped for everything. He seemed regularly cut up when I told him I was going on to Wastdale Head from the top, and shouldn’t be staying here. Of course he tried to get me to come back, and said I could never get over to Wastdale this night. All stuff, I know, for it’s no distance on the map. “Oh,” he said, “don’t you believe in the maps; they’re no guide. Take my advice, and don’t try to go to Wastdale, my boy.” I was a good mind to be down on him for being so familiar, but what was the use? As if he knew better than the guide-books! Ah! here comes my lunch.