"Tut, tut," said the man in grey.
"I speak the truth and care for no one," said he of the tattered
hat. "I say the greatest prydydd. If any one wishes to gainsay me
let him show his face and Myn Diawl - "
The landlord brought the ale, placed it on the table, and then
stood as if waiting for something.
"I suppose you are waiting to be paid," said I; "what is your
demand?"
"Sixpence for this jug, and sixpence for the other," said the
landlord.
I took out a shilling and said: "It is but right that I should pay
half of the reckoning, and as the whole affair is merely a shilling
matter, I should feel obliged in being permitted to pay the whole,
so, landlord, take the shilling and remember you are paid." I then
delivered the shilling to the landlord, but had no sooner done so
than the man in grey, starting up in violent agitation, wrested the
money from the other, and flung it down on the table before me
saying:-
"No, no, that will never do. I invited you in here to drink, and
now you would pay for the liquor which I ordered. You English are
free with your money, but you are sometimes free with it at the
expense of people's feelings. I am a Welshman, and I know
Englishmen consider all Welshmen hogs. But we are not hogs, mind
you! for we have little feelings which hogs have not. Moreover, I
would have you know that we have money, though perhaps not so much
as the Saxon." Then putting his hand into his pocket, he pulled
out a shilling, and giving it to the landlord, said in Welsh: "Now
thou art paid, and mayst go thy ways till thou art again called
for. I do not know why thou didst stay after thou hadst put down
the ale. Thou didst know enough of me to know that thou didst run
no risk of not being paid."
"But," said I, after the landlord had departed, "I must insist on
being my share. Did you not hear me say that I would give a quart
of ale to see a poet?"
"A poet's face," said the man in grey, "should be common to all,
even like that of the sun. He is no true poet, who would keep his
face from the world."
"But," said I, "the sun frequently hides his head from the world,
behind a cloud."
"Not so," said the man in grey. "The sun does not hide his face,
it is the cloud that hides it. The sun is always glad enough to be
seen, and so is the poet. If both are occasionally hid, trust me
it is no fault of theirs. Bear that in mind; and now pray take up
your money."
"The man is a gentleman," thought I to myself, "whether a poet or
not; but I really believe him to be a poet; were he not he could
hardly talk in the manner I have just heard him."
The man in grey now filled my glass, his own, and that of his
companion.
