'All that is no business of mine,' retorted the Innkeeper. 'Pay me what you owe me, and keep your tales of Knights Errant for those who want them. My business is to earn my living.'
'You are a fool and a saucy fellow,' said Don Quixote angrily, and, spurring Rozinante and brandishing his lance, he swept out of the Inn yard before any one could stop him, and rode on a good distance without waiting to see if his Squire was following.
The Innkeeper, when he saw him go without paying, ran up to get his due from Sancho Panza, who also refused to pay, and said to him: 'Sir, seeing I am Squire to a Knight Errant, the same rule and reason for not paying at inns and taverns hold as good for me as for my Master.'
The Innkeeper grew angry at these words, and threatened that if he did not pay speedily he would get it from him in a way he would not like.
Sancho replied that by the Order of Knighthood which his Lord and Master had received, he would not pay a penny though it cost him his life.
But his bad fortune so managed it, that there happened to be at the Inn at this time four wool-combers of Segovia, and three needlemakers of Cordova, and two neighbours from Seville, all merry fellows, very mischievous and playsome. And as if they were all moved with one idea, they came up to Sancho, and pulling him down off his Ass, one of them ran in for the Innkeeper's blanket, and they flung him into it. But looking up and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat lower than they needed for their business, they determined to go out into the yard, which had no roof but the sky, and there placing Sancho in the middle of the blanket, they began to toss him aloft and to make sport with him by throwing him up and down. The outcries of the miserable be-tossed Squire were so many and so loud that they reached the ears of his Master, who, standing awhile to listen what it was, believed that some new adventure was at hand, until he clearly recognised the shrieks to come from poor Sancho. Immediately turning his horse, he rode back at a gallop to the Inn gate, and finding it closed, rode round the wall to see if he could find any place at which he might enter. But he scarcely got to the wall of the Inn yard, which was not very high, when he beheld the wicked sport they were making with his Squire. He saw him go up and down with such grace and agility, that, had his anger allowed him, I make no doubt he would have burst with laughter. He tried to climb the wall from his horse, but he was so bruised and broken that he could by no means alight from his saddle, and therefore from on top of his horse he used such terrible threats against those that were tossing Sancho that one could not set them down in writing.
But in spite of his reproaches they did not cease from their laughter or labour, nor did the flying Sancho stop his lamentations, mingled now with threats and now with prayers. Thus they carried on their merry game, until at last from sheer weariness they stopped and let him be. And then they brought him his Ass, and, helping him to mount it, wrapped him in his coat, and the kind-hearted Maritornes, seeing him so exhausted, gave him a pitcher of water, which, that it might be the cooler, she fetched from the well.
Just as he was going to drink he heard his Master's voice calling to him, saying: 'Son Sancho, drink not water, drink it not, my son, for it will kill thee. Behold, here I have that most holy Balsam,'—and he showed him the can of liquor,—'two drops of which if thou drinkest thou wilt undoubtedly be cured.'
At these words Sancho shuddered, and replied to his Master: 'You forget surely that I am no Knight, or else you do not remember the pains I suffered last evening. Keep your liquor to yourself, and let me be in peace.'