The noise died away presently. Sir Richard supposed that his mercurial companion was engaged in rummaging for the book; but the grizzled knight had beckoned the inn-keeper to his side and was threatening him with every description of chastisement if he but dared to intimate to his young friend within the location or distance of Castle Yewe.
"An the sir knight asks me again, what shall I tell him?" queried the landlord.
"Oh, anything, MacWhuddy, and be damned to you! Anything but the truth."
When de Claverlok came into the tap-room he was puffing and blowing at a tremendous rate and carrying the vellum-bound volume under his arm.
"Come now, Sir Dick," he started off in a wheedling tone, "read me one of these tales of—oh—how say you that name again, ... eh?"
"De Claverlok," observed Sir Richard dryly, "your love of literature has grown to be of an intensity indeed. But your laggard memory halts and stumbles and plays traitor by refusing to keep pace with it. I have said before, my zealous friend, that it would ill beseem me to tarry here in idle reading. Nay—another time, good scholar. Another time! Another time! Here comes our host's pretty daughter with the meat and drink. Let us refresh ourselves quickly and be away."
"Then," said de Claverlok, "I'll return the book to its place within your——"
As he spoke he arose from his stool, and just at the moment when the serving-maid was about to set the platter upon the table. They collided violently, scattering the food and wine over the sanded floor.
De Claverlok wheeled, straightened, set his hands upon his hips, and with a look as though all the world was conspiring to do him injury, regarded the cowering, half-tearful maid.
"Well—what fiend's in this blessed place, ... eh?" he bellowed. "Look you at this mess upon the floor, you awkward body! And here the sir knight yonder is fair aching to be upon his way. An you wore not kirtles, I'd have the flat of my hand at your ears for a blundering dunce, ... eh!"