One day John Randolph, of Roanoke, [Footnote: Ro'a noke.] set out on horseback to ride to a town that was many miles from his home. The road was strange to him, and he traveled very slowly.
When night came on he stopped at a pleasant roadside inn and asked for lodging. The innkeeper welcomed him kindly. He had often heard of the great John Randolph, and therefore he did all that he could to entertain him well.
A fine supper was prepared, and the innkeeper himself waited upon his guest. John Randolph ate in silence. The innkeeper spoke of the weather, of the roads, of the crops, of politics. But his surly guest said scarcely a word.
In the morning a good breakfast was served, and then Mr. Randolph made ready to start on his journey. He called for his bill and paid it. His horse was led to the door, and a servant helped him to mount it.
As he was starting away, the friendly innkeeper said, "Which way will you travel, Mr. Randolph?"
Mr. Randolph looked at him in no gentle way, and answered, "Sir!"
"I only asked which way you intend to travel," said the man.
"Oh! I have I paid you my bill?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do I owe you anything more?"
"No, sir."
"Then, I intend to travel the way I wish to go—do you understand?"
He turned his horse and rode away. He had not gone farther than to the end of the innkeeper's field, when to his surprise he found that the road forked. He did not know whether he should take the right-hand fork or the left-hand.
He paused for a while. There was no signboard to help him. He looked back and saw the innkeeper still standing by the door. He called to him:—"My friend, which of these roads shall I travel to go to Lynchburg?"
"Mr. Randolph," answered the innkeeper, "you have paid your bill and don't owe me a cent. Travel the way you wish to go. Good-by!"
As bad luck would have it, Mr. Randolph took the wrong road. He went far out of his way and lost much time, all on account of his surliness.