But as to yourself--"
"You are a strange tinker, I think!" said I, to stay his questioning.
"And why strange?"
"You quote Shakespeare, for one thing--"
"Aha! That's because, although I'm a tinker, I'm a literary cove
besides. I mend kettles and such for a living and make verses for a
pleasure!"
"What, are you a poet?"
"'Ardly that, young sir, 'ardly that!" said he, rubbing his chin with
the shaft of his hammer. "No, 'ardly a poet, p'raps,--but thereabouts.
My verses rhyme an' go wi' a swing, which is summat, arter all, ain't
it? I made the song I was a-singing so blithe an' 'earty--did ye like
it?"
"Indeed, yes."
"No, but did ye though?" he questioned wistfully, slanting his head
at me. "Honest an' true?"
"Honest and true!"
At this, his bright eyes danced and a smile curved his grim lips;
setting by hammer and kettle, he rose and disappeared into the small
dingy tent behind him, whence he presently emerged bearing a large
case-bottle, which he uncorked and proffered to me.
"Rum!" said he, nodding. "Any cove as likes verses, 'specially my
verses, is a friend--so drink hearty, friend, to our better
acquaintance."
"Thank you, but I never drink!"
"Lord!" he exclaimed, and stood bottle in hand, like one quite at a
loss; whereupon, perceiving his embarrassment, I took the bottle and
swallowed a gulp for good-fellowship's sake and straightway gasped.
"Why, 'tis a bit strong," quoth he, "but for the concocting, or, as
you might say, com-posing o' verses there's nothing like a drop o'
rum, absorbed moderate, to hearten the muse now and then--here's
health an' long life!"
Having said which, he swallowed some of the liquor in turn, sighed,
corked the bottle and, having deposited it in the little tent, sat
down to his work again with a friendly nod to me.
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