The motley assembly, who among themselves could not have mustered the price of a jug of ale, rose in obedience to Britton’s commands, and avowing their intention of coming to see him on the morrow evening, they, with much noise and boisterous clamour, took their departure from the Chequers.
In a very minutes none were in the parlour but the landlord, Britton, and the butcher. The smith then turned to his host, and said,—
“Bring me some spiced canary, and keep every body out of here.”
“Yes, your majesty—most certainly—oh dear yes!”
The spiced canary was soon set before the precious couple, and then Britton, after a hearty draught, handed the liquor to the butcher, who with a nod that might imply any toast that his companion liked to translate it into, nearly finished the beverage.
“Bond,” said Britton, “I want you to do a little job for me.”
“I’m your man,” said the butcher. “What is it?”
“In my bedroom up stairs is a man.”
“A thief?”
“He is a thief, and be cursed to him! For he has robbed me for many years of my due.”