Well, one day, in the kitchen of the Inn, Paul Carrick, having drunk two pints of good ale, said to Vint, "Landlord, you ought to have married her to me, I've got two hundred pounds laid by. I'd have pulled you out of the mire, and welcome."
"Would you, though, Paul?" said Harry Vint; "then, by G—, I wish I had."
Now Carrick bawled that out, and Griffith, who was at the door, heard it.
He walked into the kitchen, ghastly pale, and spoke to Harry Vint first.
"I take your inn, your farm, and your debts on me," said he; "not one without t' other."
"Spoke like a man!" cried the landlord, joyfully; "and so be it—before these witnesses."
Griffith turned on Carrick: "This house is mine. Get out on 't, ye jealous, mischief-making cur." And he took him by the collar and dragged him furiously out of the place, and sent him whirling into the middle of the road; then ran back for his hat and flung it out after him.
This done, he sat down boiling, and his eyes roved fiercely round the room in search of some other antagonist. But his strength was so great, and his face so altered with this sudden spasm of reviving jealousy, that nobody cared to provoke him further.
After a while, however, Harry Vint muttered dryly, "There goes one good customer."
Griffith took him up sternly: "If your debts are to be mine, your trade shall be mine too, that you had not the head to conduct."