"E'gad, sir," said he, laughing, "they brew uncommonly strong ale in these parts, it seems!"
"Yes!" said I, well knowing it was not this had so shaken him or caused his hands to quiver as he leaned. "I was thinking," I continued, "that with such ale a crust of bread and cheese might not be amiss?"
"Cheese!" he exclaimed fiercely. "Sir—I—I detest cheese!" But as he spoke I noticed his nearest hand had clenched itself into a quivering fist.
"Why, indeed," said I, furtively watching that telltale hand, "I myself should prefer a slice of roast beef—or a rasher of ham—"
"Ham!" he murmured softly as if to himself—and then in the same tone,
"Sir, I never eat ham, it is an abom—"
"'Am, sir?" sighed the gloomy landlord at this juncture, "if you gentleman was a-thinking of 'am, I've as fine a gammon as was ever smoked, leastways so my missus do say, so if you'm minded for a rasher or so—cut thick—an' say 'arf a dozen eggs—why, say the word, sir."
"The word is 'yes'—if this gentleman will honour me with his company," said I. Hereupon the down-at-heels gentleman shook his head, scowled into his tankard, sighed, and, meeting my eye, broke into a wry smile.
"With all the pleasure in life, sir!" said he.
Thus in a little while we were seated in a small, clean room with the ham and eggs smoking on a dish between us, whence emanated a savour most delectable.
"It smells very appetising!" said I, taking up knife and fork.