“Then,” said I, “I am truly fortunate.”
“Sir,” said the man in grey, “I had no intention of discovering myself, but as my friend here has betrayed my secret, I confess that I am a bard of Anglesey—my friend is an excellent individual but indiscreet, highly indiscreet, as I have frequently told him,” and here he looked most benignantly reproachful at him of the tattered hat.
“The greatest prydydd,” said the latter, “the greatest prydydd that—” and leaving his sentence incomplete he drank off the ale which he had poured into his glass.
“Well,” said I, “I cannot sufficiently congratulate myself for having met an Anglesey bard—no doubt a graduate one. Anglesey, was always famous for graduate bards, for what says Black Robin?
“‘Though Arvon graduate bards can boast,
Yet more canst thou, O Anglesey.’”
“I suppose by graduate bard you mean one who has gained the chair at an eisteddfod?” said the man in grey. “No, I have never gained the silver chair—I have never had an opportunity. I have been kept out of the eisteddfodau. There is such a thing as envy, sir—but there is one comfort, that envy will not always prevail.”
“No,” said I; “envy will not always prevail—envious scoundrels may chuckle for a time at the seemingly complete success of the dastardly arts to which they have recourse, in order to crush merit—but Providence is not asleep. All of a sudden they see their supposed victim on a pinnacle far above their reach. Then there is weeping, and gnashing of teeth with a vengeance, and the long, melancholy howl. Oh, there is nothing in this world which gives one so perfect an idea of retribution as the long melancholy howl of the disappointed envious scoundrel when he sees his supposed victim smiling on an altitude far above his reach.”
“Sir,” said the man in grey, “I am delighted to hear you. Give me your hand, your honourable hand. Sir, you have now felt the hand-grasp of a Welshman, to say nothing of an Anglesey bard, and I have felt that of a Briton, perhaps a bard, a brother, sir? Oh, when I first saw your face out there in the dyffryn, I at once recognised in it that of a kindred spirit, and I felt compelled to ask you to drink. Drink, sir! but how is this? the jug is empty—how is this?—Oh, I see—my friend sir, though an excellent individual, is indiscreet, sir—very indiscreet. Landlord, bring this moment another jug of ale!”
“The greatest prydydd,” stuttered he of bulged shoe—“the greatest prydydd—Oh—”
“Tut, tut,” said the man in grey.