And he led Amyas into his parlor, and called to the apprentices to run one way, and to the cook to run another.

“You must not trouble yourself to get me supper, indeed.”

“I must though, sir, and the best of wine too; and old Salterne had a good tap of Alicant in old time, old time, old time, sir! and you must drink it now, whether he does or not!” and out he bustled.

Amyas sat still, wondering what was coming next, and puzzled at the sudden hilarity of the man, as well as his hospitality, so different from what the innkeeper had led him to expect.

In a minute more one of the apprentices came in to lay the cloth, and Amyas questioned him about his master.

“Thank the Lord that you are come, sir,” said the lad.

“Why, then?”

“Because there’ll be a chance of us poor fellows getting a little broken meat.  We’m half-starved this three months—­bread and dripping, bread and dripping, oh dear, sir!  And now he’s sent out to the inn for chickens, and game, and salads, and all that money can buy, and down in the cellar haling out the best of wine.”—­And the lad smacked his lips audibly at the thought.

“Is he out of his mind?”

“I can’t tell; he saith as how he must save mun’s money now-a-days; for he’ve a got a great venture on hand:  but what a be he tell’th no man.  They call’th mun ‘bread and dripping’ now, sir, all town over,” said the prentice, confidentially, to Amyas.

“They do, do they, sirrah!  Then they will call me bread and no dripping to-morrow!” and old Salterne, entering from behind, made a dash at the poor fellow’s ears:  but luckily thought better of it, having a couple of bottles in each hand.

“My dear sir,” said Amyas, “you don’t mean us to drink all that wine?”

“Why not, sir?” answered Salterne, in a grim, half-sneering tone, thrusting out his square-grizzled beard and chin.  “Why not, sir? why should I not make merry when I have the honor of a noble captain in my house? one who has sailed the seas, sir, and cut Spaniards’ throats; and may cut them again too; eh, sir?  Boy, where’s the kettle and the sugar?”

“What on earth is the man at?” quoth Amyas to himself—­“flattering me, or laughing at me?”

“Yes,” he ran on, half to himself, in a deliberate tone, evidently intending to hint more than he said, as he began brewing the sack—­in plain English, hot negus; “Yes, bread and dripping for those who can’t fight Spaniards; but the best that money can buy for those who can.  I heard of you at Smerwick, sir—­Yes, bread and dripping for me too—­I can’t fight Spaniards:  but for such as you.  Look here, sir; I should like to feed a crew of such up, as you’d feed a main of fighting-cocks, and then start them with a pair of Sheffield spurs a-piece—­you’ve a good one there to your side, sir:  but don’t you think a man might carry two now, and fight as they say those Chineses do, a sword to each hand?  You could kill more that way, Captain Leigh, I reckon?”