pointed and
surmounted by a long, black and up-curling moustache, which added
fierceness to an already not too kindly countenance. His sword, a long
point and blade rapier of Italian pattern, still hung by his side, as
if even when surrounded by this good cheer, he, from habit born of
many a hard campaign, still clung to it.

"What, ho, John Tapster;" exclaimed he of the steel cuirass, banging
lustily on the table with the pummel of his sword, "another six-hooped
pot of thy best mulled ale, for the sour and remorseful wine of Spain
which I have drunk, ill befits my stomach."

The landlord advanced reluctantly to comply, with an air which plainly
showed he was divided in his mind between the doubt of a settlement to
an already long unpaid score, and the fear of personal violence did he
refuse the man his request. The love of a whole skin, however,
triumphed, for after filling the pot with ale and plunging the mulling
iron into it, which he had drawn from the fire, he set the desired
drink before his guest.

"By Sir Bacchus!" said the stranger, after taking a deep draught,
"'tis the only fitting liquid to put into one's body, if he wishes to
strike a stout blow for the King." Then, as he finished the pot, "It
seemeth well to drown the clinging dust of Spain within one's throat,
in merry English ale."

The landlord did not venture to reply to these offers of conversation;
he seemed loath to enter into friendly talk, when in all probability
he soon would be embroiled with the man in a dispute, if not in an
issue of more serious nature. However, the other, nothing daunted, and
gazing on his two companions, whom he discovered wrapped in drunken
slumber, snoring roundly, prodded them both with the scabbard of his
sword, which action eliciting from them nothing but a grunt, and being
desirous of further conversation, he again turned to him of the green
apron who had resumed his watchful scrutiny from before the fire, and
continued:

"Thou seemest but sparing of thy speech, Sir Host. Judge a man not
always by the company he keeps; these drunken knaves whose silly pates
would have been turned with milk of the morning's drawing, are no
comrades of mine; 'tis only a mere chance friendship. I was not over
particular in my pick of friends, being lately landed, and but too
glad to take up with the first varlets speaking my own sweet English;
after many months of naught but jabbering Spanish sounding in my ears
'twas well and p