“You are an idiot,” said Britton, gravely.
“Ah, a rank idiot,” cried the landlord, winking again at the little man, who, however, was too much enraged to notice the telegraphic regard of the politic host.
“I an idiot!” he exclaimed. “Well, I never heard the like of that before. I tell you what it is, master landlord, I—I—I won’t drink any more of your ale—d—e!”
“You—you can’t drink much, you wretched little midge,” said Britton.
“Sir,” cried the little man, giving his hat a fierce cock. “Sir, I never enter your house again, and my wife shall get her rations from the Blue Cat and Frying Pan, or the Crocodile and Crumpet, d—e!”
The landlord now winked so dreadfully and so incessantly, that it seemed quite doubtful whether or not he would ever leave off again; but the little man was not to be winked into good-humour, and shook his head in great indignation.
Britton reeled towards the bar, exclaiming, “Give me a half-pint measure, and if I don’t put him into it, my name ain’t King—King Britton!”
The landlord now took the opportunity of whispering to Master Sniggles—
“Do for Heaven’s sake be an idiot.”
“I—I—the devil!” cried Sniggles.