me," said the landlord; "I brought myself safe
home, and that was all; came home without a shilling, regularly done,
cleaned out." "I am sorry for that," said I; "but after you had won the
money, you ought to have been satisfied, and not risked it again. How
did you lose it? I hope not by the pea and thimble." "Pea and thimble,"
said the landlord--"not I; those confounded cocks left me nothing to lose
by the pea and thimble." "Dear me," said I; "I thought that you knew
your birds." "Well, so I did," said the landlord, "I knew the birds to
be good birds, and so they proved, and would have won if better birds had
not been brought against them, of which I knew nothing, and so do you see
I am done, regularly done." "Well," said I, "don't be cast down; there
is one thing of which the cocks by their misfortune cannot deprive
you--your reputation; make the most of that, give up cock-fighting, and
be content with the custom of your house, of which you will always have
plenty, as long as you are the wonder and glory of the neighbourhood."

The landlord struck the table before him violently with his fist.
"Confound my reputation!" said he. "No reputation that I have will be
satisfaction to my brewer for the seventy pounds I owe him. Reputation
won't pass for the current coin of this here realm; and let me tell you,
that if it a'n't backed by some of it, it a'n't a bit better than rotten
cabbage, as I have found. Only three weeks since I was, as I told you,
the wonder and glory of the neighbourhood; and people used to come and
look at me, and worship me; but as soon as it began to be whispered about
that I owed money to the brewer, they presently left off all that kind of
thing; and now, during the last three days, since the tale of my
misfortune with the cocks has got wind, almost everybody has left off
coming to the house, and the few who does, merely comes to insult and
flout me. It was only last night that fellow, Hunter, called me an old
fool in my own kitchen here. He wouldn't have called me a fool a
fortnight ago--'twas I called him fool then, and last night he called me
old fool; what do you think of that? the man that beat Tom of Hopton to
be called not only a fool, but an old fool; and I hadn't heart, with one
blow of this here fist into his face, to send his head ringing against
the wall; for when a man's pocket is low, do you see, his heart a'n't
much higher. But it is no use talking, something must be done.