“But I’m minded for a bench and sanded floor,” smiled Sir John, and into the tap he took his way accordingly. It was a smallish chamber very orderly and clean, but empty except for a carter, in smock and leggings, who snored lustily with his head on the table, and a raw-boned individual with a shock of red hair and a dull, fish-like eye, who sat huddled in a corner and gloomed. To whom Sir John forthwith addressed himself: “Friend, you drink nothing?” “Well, an’ ’ow can I drink,” answered the red-headed man in surly tone; “’ow’s any man to drink out of a empty tankard?” “That is easily amended.” “Oh, is it, an arl—when a honest man’s pockets be as empty as ’is tankard an’ nobody to ax ’im to take nothin’?” “Then I will. Fill for him, Mr. Levitt.” “I wouldn’t, sir!” answered the landlord; “’e’s ’ad enough, I rackon!” “’Oo’s ’ad enough?” demanded the red-haired man truculently. “I ain’t never ’ad enough! I never do ’ave enough, no, nor ain’t likely to ’ave enough! An’ if the loikes o’ ’im loikes to treat the loikes o’ me, what’s to prevent?” “Well, keep a civil tongue to the gen’elman, an’ dannel ye, Jonas Skag!” and Mr. Levitt, setting down the refilled tankard with a bang, stalked away. “Jonas Skag!” repeated Sir John, eyeing his unlovely companion and shifting nearer to him; “I’ve heard that name before.” “No, you ain’t!” retorted the other fiercely. “Leastways if y’ave you’ve never ’eard naun but good of it!” “True,” nodded Sir John; “for you told it me yourself.” “What—I did?” exclaimed the red-headed man leaning forward to scowl. “Aye,” answered Sir John, leaning forward also until he might look into the close-set eyes opposite. “You informed me that a more honest man never trod a plank.” “Well, ’tis true! Honest I be, aye, honest as the day—an’ I’d loike t’ see the man as says I bean’t!” So saying, he lifted the ale to unshaven mouth and drank greedily. “You don’t smoke tobacco!” said Sir John. “No, I doan’t! An’ wot be that t’ you? Why should I smoke? I doan’t loike smoke an’ I bean’t a-goin’ to smoke! Not for the loikes o’ you, no—nor no man breathin’, I ain’t!” “Perchance you prefer snuff?” Sir John suggested, finger and thumb in waistcoat pocket. “An’ wot if I do? I ain’t beggin’ an’ pleadin’—no, nor yet axin’ you for any, be I?” “No,” answered Sir John; “but you may have a pinch for good-fellowship’s sake, none the less, if you’re so minded.” “Well, s’posin’ I be so minded?” “Then I make you welcome to my box.” And Sir John took snuff-box from pocket and gave it to the red-haired man’s hairy fingers.