A wise and venerable Oriental philosopher, who - according to legend - enjoyed more lives than those commonly ascribed to a domestic cat and was said to have exhibited the outward manifestations of wisdom in the form of a long grey beard and fleshy earlobes whilst still in the cradle, once proclaimed that even a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Had Mr Headstone been familiar with the writings of this excellent gentleman, he no doubt would have concurred with the veracity of the statement. It was, after all, an indisputable fact that, in order to gain the coaching station at The Saracen's Head, he was at first obliged to traverse a significant distance on foot. This expedition was made less arduous by the prematurity of the hour, which precluded the presence upon the streets of the city's citizenry - all of whom were still snugly abed - , and allowed Mr Headstone full range of the thoroughfares along which he passed. Regrettably, his progress was in no small degree hampered by an icy wind, which pricked him with sharp particles of frozen precipitation, and seemed determined to blow in a perversely contrary direction to the one upon which he was set.
Mr Headstone could, at least, take some comfort from the fact that he had exhibited enough presence of mind to reserve a seat on the inside of the coach. Before any observers seek to object to such an extravagance, they would do well to consider the effects a wintery gale can have on an individual's constitution when he is being propelled into it with all the speed that a coach and four can muster. By the time Mr Headstone arrived at the yard of the inn, preparations for the departure of the coach were in full swing, but there was still enough time for the school master to take a bowl of warm milk fortified with a tot of rum. Although the addition of an alcoholic supplement was in strict contradiction to Mr Headstone's resolution to forgo strong drink, he reasoned that the circumstances of the occasion were such that an exception could (and should) be made, and, having convinced himself of the wisdom of his own argument, he ordered a double measure just to be sure.
With a view to preserving his own comfort for the journey ahead, Mr Headstone occupied a place in front of the parlour fire in an attempt to remove the excess mositure from his garments.The operation of the heat from the coals on the worsted material of his jacket and pantaloons did not, however, have the effect he had hoped for. The seat of his breeches, which he had placed in close proximity to the glowing hearth in order to benefit from the full force of the reddish flames, became at once uncomfortably warm and then painfully hot. His jacket began to steam like a kettle on the hob and his startled countenance became wreathed in plumes of scalding vapour. Mr Headstone was in very really danger of being broiled alive, and, had it not been for the precipitous action of a passing chambermaid, who doused him with a bowl of cold slops which she had been intending to throw out into the yard, the pedagogue might have suffered greatly - for which deliverance he should be eternally grateful to the quick-wittedness of that humble servant.
Mr Charles Dickens
