The contention was brisk, and not until it began to interfere with the nightly sale of his liquor, did Elford awake to its danger and stop it. He conceded nothing, but declared the argument must cease.
"'Tis Christman Eve," said he, "and no occasion for any short words or sharp sayings. Me and Head both know that we'm right, and mountains wouldn't move either of us from our opinions, so let it be."
He lifted a great earthen pot from the fire in the bar parlour. It contained cider with pieces of toast floating in it.
"Pretty drinking, as I'm certain sure that one and all of you will say," foretold the host.
Apples, however, rose again to be first topic of conversation before this fine wassail, and Jack spoke once more.
"Time was, down to the in country, that on this night—or else Old Christman Eve, I forget which—we gawks should all have marched out solemn to the orchards and sung lucky songs, and poured out cider, and fired our guns into the branches, and made all-round heathen fools of ourselves. And why? Because 'twas thought that to do so improved the next year's crop a thousandfold! And when we remember that 'twas no further back than our fathers that they did such witless things, it did ought to make us feel humble, I'm sure."
"Don't talk no more about cider, drink it," said Heathman Lintern, who was of the company. "Drink it while 'tis hot, and 'twill warm your bones and soften your opinions. You'm so peart to-night and so sharp at the corners, that I reckon you've got your money back at last."
This direct attack reduced Mr. Head to a less energetic and dogmatic frame of mind.
"No," he answered. "I have not, and I happen to know that I never shall. Me and the old chap fell out, and I dressed him down too sharp. I was wrong, and I've since admitted it, for I'm the rare, fearless sort that grant I'm wrong the first minute it can be proved against me. Though when a man's built on that large pattern, you may be sure he ban't wrong very often. 'Tis only the peddling, small creatures that won't admit they're mistaken—out of a natural fear that if they once allow it, they'll never be thought right again. But though he's forgiven me, I've strained the friendship. So we live and learn."
"Coode's had his money again," said the host of 'The White Thorn.'