"'And it over, sonny,—I wants it."
I merely raised my head and ran my eyes over him.
He was an ugly brute, and no mistake. A man of tremendous girth.
Although I had no real fear of him,—for, already I had been schooled to the knowledge that fear and its twin brother worry are man's worst opponents.—I was a little uncertain as to what the outcome would be if I got him thoroughly angered. However, I was in no mind to be interfered with.
He thumped his heavy fist on the table.
"'And that over,—quick," he roared.
His great jaws clamped together and his thick, discoloured lips became compressed.
"Why!—certainly, my friend," I remarked easily, rising with slow deliberation. "Which will you have first:—the bread and cheese, or the ale?"
"'Twere the ale I arst and it's th' ale I wants,—and blamed quick about it or I'll know the reason w'y."
"Stupid of me!" I remarked. "I should have known you wanted the ale first. Here you are, my good, genial, handsome fellow."