Adversity is a great thing for the mind. Gervase at once took the idea that he himself could perform quite as villainously if only he could come by an instrument. If only he might barter the silver-hilted dagger for a flageolet, even of the most lamentable kind, it might be possible in the present condition of the public taste to keep body and soul together.
He gave the idea to Anne, who approved it heartily, always assuming that he had some little skill upon the instrument.
“Why, yes,” said Gervase. “I learned to play on the flageolet when I was at Paris. ’Tis the only thing I learned there; at least it is the only thing I learned there that is likely to serve us now.”
But how were they to come by such a thing? That was a problem indeed. Under the spur of their necessity they went after the ragged fellow and were fain to interrupt him in the midst of his discoursing of the infamous melody of “Jumping Joan.”
He did not thank them for their interruption.
“Barter my pipe for a silver-hilted dagger, quotha? I would not barter my pipe for all the pearls in the head o’ the Virgin Queen. Stand out o’ my light and let me proceed.”
He was a rude fellow and a fierce one, and he was like to stride over them in his haste to get clear of the suggestion.
“Barter my pipe!” they could hear him mutter as he passed down the road. It was as though he had been asked to barter his religion. He poured out a string of curses and then returned to his villainous melody.
Feeling almost desperate, they dragged themselves along the street until they came to a door with a bush hanging over it which showed it was the village ale-house. Here on a bench outside the door they flung themselves down. The seat was hard and narrow, yet infinitely delicious to their weariness.
Here they sat until the landlord came to them. They marked his appearance with great trepidation as to what manner of a man he was. Like that of the baker, his aspect was large and stubborn but not genial.