What account givest thou of thyself?"
"Thou art but a yeoman," returned Walter Skinner, disdainfully. "And
dost thou ask me to account to thee? Account thou to me, sirrah. What
didst thou in the street standing there like a gutter post to obstruct
the way of passengers in haste? But for thee I had been well sped on my
way."
The farmer heard him in amazement. Then he said: "I do perceive that
thou art a fool; and with fools I never meddle." And seizing him once
more by the shoulder, he thrust him into the street. "Speed on thy way,
little braggart," he said, "even till thou comest to thy master, who
must be the Evil One himself."
Walter Skinner sped away, by degrees slacking his pace till, after much
wandering, he came to a low public house on Thames Street, where he
slipped in, hid himself in a corner, and went fast asleep. It was noon
of the next day before he was discovered and routed out by a tapster.
"This be no place for a scullion," said the tapster. "Get to thy
duties."
"I be no scullion," retorted Walter Skinner, indignantly. "Till now I
was the king's man with good hope to be a duke or the mayor of London.
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