I was yet some distance away
when I became aware that something untoward was afoot, for, borne to
my ears, came a sound of excited voices, dominated all at once by one
deep and hoarse and loud in virtuous indignation.
"Drunk me beer, I tell 'ee--every drop! Drunk me beer at one gullup so
quick's a flash--the 'eartless ruffin!"
Hereupon rose an answering chorus.
"Throw 'im out! Duck 'im! Gi'e 'un one for 'isself!"
Reaching the tavern, I halted on the threshold of a low, wide chamber,
floored with red tiles and furnished with oaken tables and benches,
where I beheld some half-dozen angry country-fellows grouped about a
solitary individual who fronted them in very desperate and determined
manner, his back to the wall; an extremely down-at-heels gentleman
this, who yet cocked his hat and glared about him with an air of
polite ferocity.
"In half a pig's whisper," said he, squaring his arms belligerently,
"in half a pig's whisper or less, blood will flow, gore will gush and
spatter--" Here, chancing to catch sight of me in the doorway, he
flourished off his hat, a miserably sorry-looking object, and bowed
profoundly. "Aha, Sir Oswald," quoth he, "you arrive most aptly--in
the very nick, the moment, the absolute tick! If you have a mind to
see a little delicate fibbing, some scientific bruising as taught by
the famous Natty Bell, foot and fist-work as exhibited by Glorious
John, Jem Belcher and--"
"'E swallowed all my beer, 'e did, sir!" exclaimed a red-faced man in
gaiters and smock-frock, "in one gullup--so quick no 'and could stay
the deed! Stole me beer an' can't deny it--"
"No, by heaven!" exclaimed the down-at-heels gentleman.
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