“A’s unprotected,” said the third fellow, his eyes burning—“likely some little sow that flees and squeaks before the boars of York.”
“We’ll make her squeak, I warrant,” said the first speaker.
The lank creature skipped to the front, and snatched up the chain.
“Drink first,” he cried, “drink, drink! I’ll with this to the ‘Chequers’ and return anon with sack.”
The bull-headed man threw himself on him in a fury; in a second they were all fighting together for possession of the chain. The strongest, the first-mentioned, secured it.
“Drink,” he roared. “Much drink, I trow, for those remaining. Trust thee the chain, Jake Andrews? Marry I will when Tib’s eve is come.”
The other wriggled, cracking his finger-joints.
“Take it thyself, then, Cuckoo, only speed fast and bring us good store.”
They wrangled yet awhile, but in the end the holder of the chain went off, with threats of fierce reprisals should the two remaining venture to take advantage of his absence. They leered at one another oddly as he disappeared.
“A’ll claim, as ever, the first and the best of everything,” growled the short, thick-set man under his breath.