"Gyles' lad," said Steg.
"An' 'oo telt 'im?" the brewer continued, pursuing the inflexible interrogative path to fundamentals.
"Arny."
"Arny Dixon?"
"Ay, 'e did."
"Arny Dixon 'issen?"
"Ay, Arny Dixon 'issen. There 's not two of 'em."
"Arny Dixon telt Gyles' lad and Gyles' lad telt you, ye say?"
"Ay, ah do," said Steg, with a voice that cried for no abatement of its responsibility.
The brewer gave one thigh a moment's respite off the hard cask, and after that the other.