“Well, sir, that is speaking plain, and I will tell you plainly that we don’t like to have strangers among us who understand our discourse, more especially if they be gentlefolks.”
“That’s strange,” said I; “a Welshman or foreigner, gentle or simple, may go into a public-house in England, and nobody cares a straw whether he understands the discourse of the company or not.”
“That may be the custom in England,” said the old man, “but it is not so in Wales.”
“What have you got to conceal?” said I; “I suppose you are honest men.”
“I hope we are, sir,” said the old man; “but I must tell you, once for all, that we don’t like strangers to listen to our discourse.”
“Come,” said I, “I will not listen to your discourse, but you shall listen to mine. I have a wonderful deal to say if I once begin; I have been everywhere.”
“Well, sir,” said the old man, “if you have anything to tell us about where you have been and what you have seen, we shall be glad to hear you.”
“Have you ever been in Russia?” shouted a voice, that of the large rough fellow who asked me the question about the Russian war.
“Oh yes, I have been in Russia,” said I.
“Well, what kind of a country is it?”