Some merriment at the expense of Powell was caused by his declaring himself the unlucky proprietor of the said flock of ducks; but with his usual good-humour, he proposed that the ducks and the trout should be cooked at his house for their supper, in which Phillips acquiesced.
After dinner, when the bottle had passed pretty freely, and all were prepared for any fun which might fall in their way, our hero contrived to bring Powell, who had hitherto fought shy, into a bet with him. He declared that a stranger as he was to Brecon, he firmly believed that he could command, and be obeyed there, with greater promptitude than himself, although a justice of the peace and one of the quorum.
“I’ll lay you twenty pounds to the contrary,” cried the magistrate.
“Done!” replied Twm, “and we can prove it without quitting this room, by opening the window, and practising on some of those people opposite.”
“Let it be yon crockery-wareman, who is the most conspicuous,” said Powell, and Twm, of course, could have no possible objection.
The magistrate opened the window, and called in a tone of authority, “Come here, you fellow; go directly to the Black Lion, and tell the landlord to let you have Justice Powell’s black mare, and bring her here to me.”
“I can’t quit my goods, sir,” said Rosser, “or I would willingly oblige you.”
“I tell you, fellow, do as I order you, or I shall kick you and your ware out of the town,” said Powell in a blustering tone, and with a look the most terrifying that he could assume.
Rosser repeated his former answer; and when the magistrate increased his threats, he burst out into a rude laugh, and, without further difference, said he really believed that his worship was drunk: this was enough, and the worthy magistrate felt himself completely put down.
Our wag now took his turn, and commenced with him: “I say, fellow, did’st thou ever see or hear of Twm Shon Catty?”