Anny stepped in unnoticed a moment or two later, and busied herself with the tankards.
Dick was sitting with his back toward her and she did not see him.
“Here, lass,” said Sue, seeing her, “the foreigner would drink sack—wilt get it for him?”
There was not much call for Canary sack at the Ship, so Anny was some minutes finding and tapping a cask. When she returned from the cellar, a flagon in her hand, the talk had become more animated and one or two lively spirits had started a song, but above the noise a voice penetrating although musical was saying loudly, “Marry, Master French, do you never drink aught but rum in the East that a gentleman is kept waiting ten minutes for a cup of sack?”
French’s deep tones replied slowly:
“Nay, Captain, very little else but rum; sack be only for gentlefolk.”
Anny hastened forward.
“Here’s for you, sir,” she said briskly, and then stopped, awe-struck before the Spaniard, dazzled by his appearance.
Black’erchief Dick stretched out a white jewelled hand for the tankard without looking at the girl.
“Thank thee, mistress,” he said carelessly, lifting it to his lips.