Digital primer

It was quite enough of a town, however, to raise a presumption
that there would be a map of the county at the inn.
'We'll just put the horses up for a few minutes, I think,' said Sponge,
turning into the stable-yard at the end of the Red Lion Hotel and Posting
House, adding, 'I want to write a letter, and perhaps,' said he, looking at
his watch, 'you may be wanting your dinner.'
Having resigned his horse to his servant, Mr. Sponge walked in, receiving
the marked attention usually paid to a red coat. Mine host left his bar,
where he was engaged in the usual occupation of drinking with customers for
the 'good of the house.' A map of the county, of such liberal dimensions,
was speedily produced, as would have terrified any one unaccustomed to
distances and scales on which maps are laid down. For instance, Jawleyford
Court, as the crow flies, was the same distance from the cross-roads at
Dallington Burn as York was from London, in a map of England hanging beside
it.
'It's a goodish way,' said Sponge, getting a lighter off the chimney-piece,
and measuring the distances.


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