He was carefully wiping the shining blade of Bucephalus with the corner of Pythagoras' mantle.
"Verrek jezelf! and what the d——l?" queried the latter in a high falsetto.
"My mantle is almost new," said Diogenes reproachfully; "thou would'st not have me soil it so soon?"
"I have a hole in my head fit to bury those three guilders in," murmured Socrates, with a sigh.
"And I a blow in the stomach which has chilled me to the marrow," sighed Pythagoras.
"And I a bruised shoulder," laughed Diogenes, "which hath engendered an unquenchable thirst."
"I wouldn't sell my thirst for any money this night," assented Pythagoras.
"To the 'Lame Cow,' then, O Pythagoras, and I'll toss thee for the first drink of hot ale."
"Ugh! but my head feels mightily hot and thick," said Socrates, somewhat huskily.
"Surely thou canst walk as far as the 'Lame Cow'?" queried Pythagoras, anxiously.