“Here,” said a sharp-speaking voice, coming from a precocious young monkey in a servitor’s dress.
“Get me a flagon of canary, and we will wash down the remains of the pasty.”
“But strangers are not admitted after curfew,” said the porter.
“And I must be getting to my lodgings,” said Martin.
“Tush, tush, didn’t you hear that this is Liberty Hall?
“Shut your mouth, Magog—here is something to stop it. This young warrior just knocked down a bos borealis, who strove to break my head. Shall I not offer him bread and salt in return?”
The porter offered no further opposition, for the speaker slipped a coin into his palm as he continued:
“Come this way, this is my den. Not that way, that is spelunca latronum, a den of robbers.”
“Holloa! here is Ralph de Monceux, and with a broken head, as usual.
“Where didst thou get that, Master Ralph, roaring Ralph?”