"Peace, fool!" exclaimed Fleetword, somewhat in anger. "Solomon was a Jew."
"A Jew!" repeated the cook—"I wonder at your holy reverence to think of such wickedness; surely your reverence does not want me to be like a Jew?"
"Solomon, thou art a fool—in bone, in flesh, in marrow, and in spirit. Have I not told thee of the ungodliness of these thoughts?" replied the preacher, as he finished his last morsel. "But, unless I answer thee according to thine own foolishness, I cannot make thee understand. Get me a flagon of double-dub."
"With a toast in it?" demanded Grundy, slily peering out at the corner of his eye.
"Thou canst comprehend that," replied Fleetword: "truly—truly, the creature comforts have absorbed thy whole stock of ideas. Thou art like a sponge, Solomon—a mere fungus. Thou may'st put in the toast. And hark ye! if ye see Barbara, tell her I would speak with her; not here—not here—that would be unseemly—but in the oak parlour, or the library, I care not which."
"Now do I wish for Robin Hays," muttered the shrewd yet ignorant cook; "for he would expoundiate, which signifies, make clear—why a parson must not meet a maid in the buttery.—But he is not a parson—Then he is a man—But not only a man, he must be something else, methinks. But why not Barbara go to the buttery? Just in time, here comes Robin; so I'll e'en ask him.—Give you good day, my Kentish man; it was a pity you were not here last night, as you so love a fray. The handsome youth, who had been staying on a visit, was cooped up, because he and Sir Willmott fought about my Lady Constance. And then the Major—he has been here two or three times, and they call him Wellmore—although worthy Jabez Tippet, the boatman, swears—no, not swears—declares, that no such person ever crosses the ferry:—yet is he dumb as a tortoise as to who does. Well, the Major and the young gentleman went off in a flash of lightning, or something of the sort; for Sir Willmott and my master could not find him. And I asked Barbara about it! but marry, she knows nothing, and therefore says nothing——"
"Which proves her different from the other sex; for they sometimes know next to nothing, yet say a great deal," retorted Robin, sarcastically.
"Humph!" replied Grundy; "you look chuffish this morning, Master Robin: have you got any thing ready for the bridal?"
"Don't worry me," exclaimed Robin; "what care I for bridals, or bridles either, unless I could fix one in your mouth? Where's Barbara?"
"The very thing I want to know; for that holy man, the preacher Fleetword, having communed with the pasty, would fain commune with the maid—not in the buttery though. And now, methinks, I had a question to put to you—Why is it unseemly for a man to——" The cook held up his hand in his usual oratorical style, so that it stood out like a substantial fan before his face, and touching the second finger of his left with the forefinger of his right, was proceeding with his inquiry, when he perceived that Robin had vanished! "Robin! Robin Hays! oh! thou heedless, and most faithless person! thou Jacky Lantern!" he exclaimed, and then followed, as he thought, the passage that Robin had taken. It happened, however, to be the opposite one, so that he received not the required information.