ner in a hotel, you'd go out for
a while in a BARCA, that would have no more romance to it nor the bark
a gillie would row, and you salmon-fishing on a cold, blustery day, and
you would feel disappointed, you having come so far, and you'd say: "It
was a grand story surely, and bravely did it pass the winter evening;
but wasn't old Malachi of the Long Glen the liar of the world!"

I wouldn't have you saying that, and I dead. In all I'm telling you,
I'd have you to know there's not a ha'porth of lie.

CHAPTER III

And so Marco Polo went into the wine-shop to see and hear the strange
foreign people.

It was a dark, long room, very high, full of shadows between the
flaming torches on the wall. At one side of it was a great fire
burning, for all it was the first night of spring. At one end of it
were the great barrels of liquor for the thirsty customers; black beer
for the English and the Irish, grand, hairy stuff with great foam to
it, and brown beer for the Germans; and there was white wine there for
the French people, and red wine for the Italians, asquebaugh for the
Scots, and rum from the sugar cane for such as had cold in their bones.
There was all kind of drink there in the brass-bound barrels--drink
would make you mad and drink would make you merry, drink would put
heart in a timid man and drink would make fighting men peaceful as
pigeons; and drink that would make you forget trouble--all in the
brass-bound barrels at the end of the room. And pleasant, fat little
men were roaming around serving the varied liquor in little silver
cups, and fine Venetian glasses for the wine, and in broad-bellied
drinking-pots that would hold more than a quart.

And there was such a babel of language as was never heard but in one
place before.

Some of the drinkers were dicing and shouting as they won, and
grumbling and cursing when they lost. And some were singing. And some
were dancing to the Irish pipes. And there was a knot around the
Indian conjurer.

But there was one man by himself at a table. And him being so silent,
you'd think he was shouting for attention. He was so restful against
the great commotion, you'd know he was a great man. You might turn
your back on him, and you'd know he was there, though he never even
whispered nor put out a finger. A fat, pleasant, close-coupled man he
was, in loose, green clothes, with gold brocade on them. And there
were two big gold ear-rings in his lobes. He smoked a