In a minute more one of the apprentices came in to lay the cloth, and Amyas questioned him about his master.
“Thank the Lord that you are come, sir,” said the lad.
“Why, then?”
“Because there'll be a chance of us poor fellows getting a little broken meat. We'm half-starved this three months—bread and dripping, bread and dripping, oh dear, sir! And now he's sent out to the inn for chickens, and game, and salads, and all that money can buy, and down in the cellar haling out the best of wine.”—And the lad smacked his lips audibly at the thought.
“Is he out of his mind?”
“I can't tell; he saith as how he must save mun's money now-a-days; for he've a got a great venture on hand: but what a be he tell'th no man. They call'th mun 'bread and dripping' now, sir, all town over,” said the prentice, confidentially, to Amyas.
“They do, do they, sirrah! Then they will call me bread and no dripping to-morrow!” and old Salterne, entering from behind, made a dash at the poor fellow's ears: but luckily thought better of it, having a couple of bottles in each hand.
“My dear sir,” said Amyas, “you don't mean us to drink all that wine?”
“Why not, sir?” answered Salterne, in a grim, half-sneering tone, thrusting out his square-grizzled beard and chin. “Why not, sir? why should I not make merry when I have the honor of a noble captain in my house? one who has sailed the seas, sir, and cut Spaniards' throats; and may cut them again too; eh, sir? Boy, where's the kettle and the sugar?”
“What on earth is the man at?” quoth Amyas to himself—“flattering me, or laughing at me?”