"What brings you here, Dick Ryder?" says he. "We thought you was in London."
"I'm on the King's service, I am, Tom," says I.
Whereat he broke into a loud guffaw, and says he, "You'd best forswear, then, or Dan'll crack no bottle for you to-night. He's in a rare humour, is Dan."
But I pushed by him, and entered the barn, where Creech and two more of his rogues were sprawling upon the floor, pretty far gone in liquor, as I conceived. At the sight of me, up jumps Dan to his feet, but falls back again drunkenly.
"You damned pink-faced truant, Dick Ryder!" he cried, "what do you out of your bed at this hour? And Mistress Polly all forlorn!"
"Women," says I, "are devilish seductive for ornament, Dan, but theirs is a heavy price, and I'm quit of 'em." And with that, nodding at a crate of bottles, I added, "A fetch of luck, eh, Danny?"
"Sit down, my fine feathered bird," says Creech; "sit down and tipple along of us. Stab me if I keep my luck to myself! I'm a generous hand, I am."
The wine was none so bad, being sack of an elegant body, though Creech had never the palate of a fly; and presently, after I had drunken, I looked about me, but could see nothing of the booty. "Ah!" says I, "I'll warrant you have filled your purse, Danny. You're no company for a poor wastrel like me."
Creech grinned, and winked a bloodshot eye on me. "You should ha' joined the company, Dick," he said. "But, damme, you're so devilish shy. Plague take you, haven't I given you your chances? Stab me, you fine young bantam, for all your pride I wager you've not a crown in your pockets, and ours a-bulging out with goldfinches."
"One, Danny—one," says I, "and a good well-thumbed crown, come by honestly."