"A second tankard of that same sack, boy. Bustle, bustle!"
"I must first to my mistress, sir," was the reply. "Nothing for credit, sir, save by permission."
"A pox upon thee!" growled the thirsty man. "On thee and thy mistress, too!"
Muttering and shaking his head, the ponderous guest stretched forth his legs, closed his eyes, and composed himself for a nap.
The drawer tipped a wink to the grinning pot-boy on the cask, and then bustled over to Droop's table, which he proceeded to wipe vigorously with his apron.
"Did you call, sir?" he said.
"Yes," said Copernicus. "Bring me a schooner of light lager."
The drawer's busy apron hand stopped at once and its owner leaned hard on the table.
"What command gave you, sir?" he said.
"Marry—a schooner of lager—light, forsooth!" Droop repeated.