When he arrived, he peeped in at one of the windows, and there he saw John o' the Scales, fat and prosperous-looking, sitting with his wife Joan at the head of the table, and beside them three gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood. They were laughing, and feasting, and pledging each other in glasses of wine, and, as he looked at them, he wondered how he had ever allowed the sleek, cunning-looking steward to become Lord of Linne in his father's place.
With something of his old pride he knocked at the door, and demanded haughtily to speak with the master of the castle. He was taken straight to the dining-hall, and when John o' the Scales saw him standing in his rags he broke into a rude laugh.
"Well, Spendthrift," he cried, "and what may thine errand be?"
The heir wondered if this man, who, in the old days had flattered and fawned upon him, had any pity left, and he determined to try him.
"Good John o' the Scales," he said, "I have come hither to crave thy help. I pray thee to lend me forty pence."
It was not a large sum. John o' the Scales had often had twice as much from him, but the churlish fellow started up in a rage.
"Begone, thou thriftless loon," he cried; "thou needst not come hither to beg. I swear that not one penny wilt thou get from me. I know too well how thou squandered thy father's gold."
Then the heir turned to John o' the Scales' wife Joan. She was a woman; perhaps she would be more merciful.
"Sweet madam," he said, "for the sake of blessed charity, bestow some alms on a poor wayfarer."
But Joan o' the Scales was a hard woman, and she had never loved her master's son, so she answered rudely, "Nay, by my troth, but thou shalt get no alms from me. Thou art little better than a vagabond; if we had a law to punish such, right gladly would I see thee get thy deserts."