“Peace, hag,” the Spaniard strode out from the crowd and touched the old woman with the tip of his forefinger.
Pet Salt stopped, and, seeing the gaudy figure in front of her, fell on her knees and holding up a fat, begrimed hand recommenced her whining.
Dick stood there for a second or two, and then turned his head. “Blueneck,” he said, “bring out a small rum keg.”
The old woman fell snivelling at his feet.
The Spaniard kicked her gently.
“O mother of many evils,” he said, “get thee out of this room with thy keg, methinks the air stinks with thee.”
Blueneck stepped forward, jerked the woman to her feet, and put the rum on the floor beside her. Mumbling blessings, thanks, and curses, she stumbled out of the open door, the keg clasped in her arms.
Dick watched her go and then turning to Sue: “Mistress, I would wash my hands,” he said, looking at the tip of his forefinger.
Sue ran to get water and the company began to break up for the night.
“Good-night to ’ee,” shouted Hal, as Joe Pullen went out, “may thy wife be sleeping sound.”