"Oh, as for that, they need not go away thirsty. Jeremy, take these—good people—to the kitchen, and broach a cask." Master Jerningham, in his desire for Ravenshaw's departure, could force himself to any concession; he considered that, left to themselves, these beggars would be no obstacle to his design; they could be kept at their ale in the kitchen.
"Why, to tell the truth," interposed the captain, "'tis not so much their thirst troubles me; 'tis my hunger." And he leaned a little toward the fowl, sniffing, and feasting on it with his eyes.
"Take it with you, man, and eat as you ride," said Jerningham, still restraining his impatience.
"Why, that's fair enough," replied Ravenshaw. "I'll just drink one cup with these my guests, and then leave 'em to your hospitality." Without more ado, he walked to the kitchen door, where Jeremy was standing, and motioned the beggars to follow. They filed into the kitchen, seven men and four women, not a whole body in the gang save the two robust wenches.
"A bare minute or so, sir," said Ravenshaw to Jerningham, and went after them, taking the lantern with him. Soon there came from the kitchen the noise of loosened tongues chattering in the gibberish of the mendicant profession.
"THERE ... WAS THE MAID OF CHEAPSIDE, PALE AND
BEWILDERED."
Master Jerningham, knowing that opposition would only cause further delay, controlled himself as best he could, and waited in silence, pacing the hall, while the captain had his humour. Meg, with housewifely instinct, betook herself to the kitchen to keep an eye on matters there. Presently the captain reappeared, with a pullet in one hand, his lantern in the other, Meg having meanwhile lighted candles in the kitchen.
"And now to horse!" cried he, closing the kitchen door after him.
"And God save us from any more delays!" said Jerningham, with a pretence of jocularity.