“Why, good Don,” said he, “you look a little sharp yourself. You have travelled overlong upon your emptiness, or I am a rogue. You shouldn’t do it, my son, you shouldn’t do it. Always be courteous to the belly, and you will find her docile. Neglect her, good Don, and you will find her a jade. Landlord, will you have the goodness to bring a platter for our friend of the feathers, or must I be put to the trouble of fixing the point of my dagger into your filthy Iberian skin?” The innkeeper, who appeared to have no desire to place the Englishman to this necessity, was mightily prompt in his obedience. Also, he fished a second ham out of the kettle, from which the Englishman cut a great portion, laid it on his own platter, and gave over the remainder to me. “There is a marrow-bone to suck,” said he. “’Tis the sweetest luxury, that and a drop of sherris.” Almost overcome with the pangs of hunger as I was, nothing was further from my intention than to accept a courtesy at these rude hands. Yet, after all, continence has a poor sort of virtue in the presence of a mistress of such despotic powers. Before I was aware that I had so much as taken the delicious platter into my keeping, I was conveying sweet smoking morsels into my mouth. And as the propitiation of so imperious a creature is at all times a delightful exercise, I had scarce felt my teeth in the delectable pig than I forgot my feud against the Englishman. Also I forgot my disgust at the manner of his feeding; for so choice were these dainty morsels that, after all, I considered it were better not to judge him harshly, as, perhaps, his methods were less unworthy than they seemed. And he, having dealt faithfully with his second ham, and having called for a pint of sherry in a voice like a trumpet, ere I was half upon my course, proceeded to smile upon my dealings with the marrow-bone in a fashion that can only be described as brotherly.