"Ah, no," whined Thaddy; "I never owned any possessions. How, indeed, should I have come by any land?"
"Well, captain, these are his tales whenever he can get a man to drink with."
"That much is true," said the imperial offspring, with woe-begone countenance. "A man must live--I mean, one gets thirsty and is bound to drink. And no one will stand me a glass unless I give him a fine story in return. They don't mind the lying, so I go on inventing. But I am not noble at all--never was, or fought any battles either. My father was a poor cobbler, and I--I----"
"Well, out with it!"
"I am nothing particular, at present. How I manage to live, most honoured avenger, I have just confessed to you--this young man in that has spoken the truth. In my younger days I was a--a--well, something of an artist."
"Indeed! what sort of an artist?"
Thaddy smiled bashfully, and since the word was not forthcoming, he took refuge in signs, passing his hands over his jaws and under his chin, at which he blushed and smiled afresh.
"What, a cut-throat?"
"Oh, dear, no; only a barber!" cried Thaddy. "As sure as I hope for better days, you may believe me--just nothing but a barber! And I think I could give you proof of my craft still. Might I perhaps have the honour----"
"No, thank you," said Taras, and turning to Wassilj, he added, "Let him off!"