Nobody took any farther notice
of me. I sat snug in the chimney-corner, trying to dry my wet
things, and as the heat was very great, partially succeeded. In
about half-an-hour one of the girls came to tell me that my supper
was ready, whereupon I got up and said:
"Gentlemen, I thank you for your civility; I am now going to
supper; perhaps before I turn in for the night I may look in upon
you again." Then without waiting for an answer I left the kitchen
and went into the other room, where I found a large dish of veal
cutlets and fried bacon awaiting me, and also a smoking bowl of
potatoes. Ordering a jug of ale I sat down, and what with hunger
and the goodness of the fare, for everything was first-rate, made
one of the best suppers I ever made in my life.
Supper over I called for a glass of whiskey-and-water, over which I
trifled for about half-an-hour and then betook myself again to the
kitchen. Almost as soon as I entered, the company - who seemed to
be discussing some point, and were not making much hurly-burly -
became silent, and looked at me in a suspicious and uneasy manner.
I advanced towards the fire. The old man who had occupied the seat
in the chimney-corner and had resigned it to me, had again taken
possession of it. As I drew near to the fire he looked upon the
ground, and seemed by no means disposed to vacate the place of
honour; after a few moments, however, he got up and offered me the
seat with slight motion of his hand and without saying a word. I
did not decline it but sat down, and the old gentleman took a chair
near. Universal silence now prevailed; sullen looks were cast at
me, and I saw clearly enough that I was not welcome. Frankness was
now my only resource. "What's the matter, gentlemen?" said I; "you
are silent and don't greet me kindly; have I given you any cause of
offence?" No one uttered a word in reply for nearly a minute, when
the old man said slowly and deliberately: "Why, sir, the long and
short of it is this: we have got it into our heads that you
understand every word of our discourse; now, do you or do you not?"
"Understand every word of your discourse?" said I; "I wish I did; I
would give five pounds to understand every word of your discourse."
"That's a clever attempt to get off, sir," said the old man, "but
it won't exactly do. Tell us whether you know more Welsh than bara
y caws, or to speak more plainly, whether you understand a good
deal of what we say."
"Well," said I, "I do understand more Welsh than bara y caws - I do
understand a considerable part of a Welsh conversation; moreover, I
can read Welsh, and have the life of Tom O'r Nant at my fingers'
ends."
"Well, sir, that is speaking plain, and I will tell you plainly
that we don't like to have strangers among us who understand our
discourse, more especially if they be gentlefolks."
"That's strange," said I; "a Welshman or foreigner, gentle or
simple, may go into a public-house in England, and nobody cares a
straw whether he understands the discourse of the company or not."
"That may be the custom in England," said the old man, "but it is
not so in Wales."
"What have you got to conceal?" said I; "I suppose you are honest
men."
"I hope we are, sir," said the old man; "but I must tell you, once
for all, that we don't like strangers to listen to our discourse."
"Come," said I, "I will not listen to your discourse, but you shall
listen to mine.
