“Why, says he, the squire gives an entertainment to-night to the court and nobility.”
“Oh,” cried Britton. “He does, and he has not invited me.”
The landlord winked at Master Sniggles, and Master Sniggles this time winked at the landlord, both the winks signifying how very far gone was Britton in drunkenness to make so very absurd and preposterous a remark.
Britton was silent for a few moments. Then a half-drunken, half-malignant smile covered his swarthy visage.
“I will go,” he cried, “I will be the only uninvited guest, and—and yet the most free. Ha, ha! Learmont would as leave see the devil himself walk in as King Britton, the smith. I’ll go!”
“Does your majesty really mean,” suggested the landlord, “to kick up a royal row at the rich squire’s?”
“Do I mean?” said Britton. “I will have a dance in his halls, I say. There’s not a knave in his household dare stand in my way. Hurrah! Hurrah! I’m a gentleman. I do nothing but drink, so I’m a gentleman. Ha! Ha! Ha! Learmont don’t expect me, but there’s nothing like an unlooked for pleasure. I’ll visit him to-night, if the pit of hell should open at his threshold to stay my progress.”
So saying, he dashed from the Chequers leaving the landlord and Master Sniggles gazing at each other in speechless amazement.
What occurred at the drunken smith’s visit to Learmont’s fête, we are already aware.