“Cease your bellowing!” said the landlord. “What did you lose?”
“Oh, many weighty matters, I do assure you. I had with me, item, a warrant, granted under the hand of my lord High Sheriff of Nottingham, and sealed with the Kings’s own seal, for the capture (hic!)—and arrest—and overcoming of a notorious rascal, one Robin Hood of Barnesdale. Item, one crust of bread. Item, one lump (hic!) of solder. Item, three pieces of twine. Item, six single keys (hic!), useful withal. Item, twelve silver pennies, the which I earned this week (hic!) in fair labor. Item—”
“Have done with your items!” said the host. “And I marvel greatly to hear you speak in such fashion of your friend, Robin Hood of Barnesdale. For was he not with you in all good-fellowship?”
“Wh-a-at? That Robin Hood?” gasped Middle with staring eyes. “Why did you not tell me?”
“Faith, I saw no need o’ telling you! Did you not tell me the first time you were here to-day, that I need not be surprised if you came back with no less person than Robin Hood himself?”
“Jesu give me pardon!” moaned the tinker. “I see it all now. He got me to drinking, and then took my warrant, and my pennies, and my crust—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted the host. “I know all about that. But pay me the score for both of you.”
“But I have no money, gossip. Let me go after that vile bag-o’-bones, and I’ll soon get it out of him.”
“Not so,” replied the other. “If I waited for you to collect from Robin Hood, I would soon close up shop.”
“What is the account?” asked Middle.