"No farthing do
you pay here for me or my friend either. But I will tell you what
you may do. I am, as I have told you, an inn-keeper as well as a
bard. By the time you get to L- you will be hot and hungry and in
need of refreshment, and if you think proper to patronise my house,
the - Arms, by taking your chop and pint there, you will oblige me.
Landlord, some more ale."
"The greatest prydydd," said he of the bulged shoe, "the greatest
prydydd - "
"I will most certainly patronise your house," said I to the man in
grey, and shaking him heartily by the hand I departed.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Inn at L- The Handmaid - The Decanter - Religious Gentleman -
Truly Distressing - Sententiousness - Way to Pay Bills.
I PROCEEDED on my way in high spirits indeed, having now seen not
only the tomb of the Tudors, but one of those sober poets for which
Anglesey has always been so famous. The country was pretty, with
here and there a hill, a harvest-field, a clump of trees or a
grove.
I soon reached L-, a small but neat town. "Where is the - Arms?"
said I to a man whom I met.
"Yonder, sir, yonder," said he, pointing to a magnificent structure
on the left.
I went in and found myself in a spacious hall. A good-looking
young woman in a white dress with a profusion of pink ribbons
confronted me with a curtsey. "A pint and a chop!" I exclaimed,
with a flourish of my hand and at the top of my voice. The damsel
gave a kind of start, and then, with something like a toss of the
head, led the way into a very large room, on the left, in which
were many tables, covered with snowy-white cloths, on which were
plates, knives and forks, the latter seemingly of silver, tumblers,
and wine-glasses.
"I think you asked for a pint and a chop, sir?" said the damsel,
motioning me to sit down at one of the tables.
"I did," said I, as I sat down, "let them be brought with all
convenient speed, for I am in something of a hurry."
"Very well, sir," said the damsel, and then with another kind of
toss of the head, she went away, not forgetting to turn half round,
to take a furtive glance at me, before she went out of the door.
"Well," said I, as I looked at the tables, with their snowy-white
cloths, tumblers, wine-glasses and what not, and at the walls of
the room glittering with mirrors, "surely a poet never kept so
magnificent an inn before; there must be something in this fellow
besides the awen, or his house would never exhibit such marks of
prosperity and good taste - there must be something in this fellow;
though he pretends to be a wild erratic son of Parnassus, he must
have an eye to the main chance, a genius for turning the penny, or
rather the sovereign, for the accommodation here is no penny
accommodation, as I shall probably find. Perhaps, however, like
myself, he has an exceedingly clever wife who, whilst he is making
verses, or running about the country swigging ale with people in
bulged shoes, or buying pigs or glandered horses, looks after
matters at home, drives a swinging trade, and keeps not only
herself, but him respectable - but even in that event he must have
a good deal of common-sense in him, even like myself, who always
allows my wife to buy and sell, carry money to the bank, draw
cheques, inspect and pay tradesmen's bills, and transact all my
real business, whilst I myself pore over old books, walk about
shires, discoursing with gypsies, under hedgerows, or with sober
bards - in hedge ale-houses." I continued musing in this manner
until the handmaid made her appearance with a tray, on which were
covers and a decanter, which she placed before me. "What is that?"
said I, pointing to a decanter.
"Only a pint of sherry, sir," said she of the white dress and
ribbons.
"Dear me," said I, "I ordered no sherry, I wanted some ale - a pint
of ale."
"You called for a pint, sir," said the handmaid, "but you mentioned
no ale, and I naturally supposed that a gentleman of your
appearance" - here she glanced at my dusty coat - "and speaking in
the tone you did, would not condescend to drink ale with his chop;
however, as it seems I have been mistaken, I can take away the
sherry and bring you the ale."
"Well, well," said I, "you can let the sherry remain; I do not like
sherry, and am very fond of ale, but you can let the wine remain;
upon the whole I am glad you brought it - indeed I merely came to
do a good turn to the master of the house."
"Thank you, sir," said the handmaid.
"Are you his daughter?" said I.
"Oh no, sir," said the handmaid reverently; "only his waiter."
"You may be proud to wait on him," said I.
"I am, sir," said the handmaid, casting down her eyes.
"I suppose he is much respected in the neighbourhood?" said I.
"Very much so, sir," said the damsel, "especially amidst the
connection."
"The connection," said I. "Ah, I see, he has extensive
consanguinity, most Welsh have. But," I continued, "there is such
a thing as envy in the world, and there are a great many malicious
people in the world, who speak against him."
"A great many, sir, but we take what they say from whence it
comes."
"You do quite right," said I. "Has your master written any poetry
lately?"
"Sir!" said the damsel staring at me.
"Any poetry," said I, "any pennillion?"
"No, sir," said the damsel; "my master is a respectable man, and
would scorn to do anything of the kind."
"Why," said I, "is not your master a bard as well as an innkeeper?"
"My master, sir, is an innkeeper," said the damsel; "but as for the
other, I don't know what you mean."
"A bard," said I, "is a prydydd, a person who makes verses -
pennillion; does not your master make them?"
"My master make them?
