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Signor Sartori, professor of magnetism and electro-biology, lounged along the street with a semi-professional swagger, the effect of which was somewhat marred by the dilapidated condition of his boots. The house of entertainment he was in search of was not precisely one noted for fashion or elegant appointments, but it had the virtue of cheapness, and the professor's exchequer was at ebb.
The Blue Dragon was a low, beetling house, with an overhanging upper storey, a small bar for the better class of customers on the one side, and a common tap upon the other. The landlord, an obese personage, bearing upon his interesting countenance the mark of his affection for his own wares, had once been a notorious poacher; indeed, no one less than one of the celebrities whose triumphant progress through the streets of Westport had nearly proved so disastrous to Sir Percival Decie. Virtue, to use the old copy-book precept is its own reward; but Mr. Joseph Ingram had found it something more. To him it represented popularity, and popularity found its vent in a public house, which was not viewed with particular favour by the guardians of the law.