“You are a fiddling limb of Satan!”
The landlord said, more moderately, “I did but desire to protect my house in its good repute.”
The fierce little white-eyed man waved both his fists.
“These dogs,” he snapped to Adam, “have boasted that you are loaded down with gold!”
“Yes, they mentioned gold,” said the landlord, tentatively.
“Gold?” said Adam. “Is it a crime to have no gold? How much gold would you see?” he pulled his two hands from his pockets and scattered heaps of yellow sovereigns on the table.
The beef-eaters nearly collapsed with amazement, at the sight of this wealth. The landlord fell to rubbing his hands with ecstasy.
“You unseemly traducers of fair gentlemen,” he said, with virtuous indignation, to the belligerents behind him, “how dare you come here to insult and to villify my guests?”
“He probably stole it,” cried the incorrigible little white-eyed terrier. “He has naught to do but to make God-fearing men——and his betters, at that—dance against their will in the public streets!”
“Ah,” said Adam, striding forward and purposely bending with great show of looking down to where the little man was standing, “so you have come to pay the fiddler for the sport which your friend enjoyed yesterday evening? How little he reckons my fiddling worth. This is so sad that nothing short of a breakfast can console me. Landlord——”