"By God's coif! Wat would miss it but little," said another.
"It is as empty as a beggar's wallet."
"As empty as an English squire, coz," cried the first speaker.
"What a devil has become of the maitre-destables and his sewers?
They have not put forth the trestles yet."
"Mon Dieu! if a man could eat himself into knighthood, Humphrey, you had been a banneret at the least," observed another, amid a burst of laughter.
"And if you could drink yourself in, old leather-head, you had been first baron of the realm," cried the aggrieved Humphrey.
"But how of England, my lads of Loring?"
"I take it," said Ford, "that it is much as it was when you were there last, save that perchance there is a little less noise there."
"And why less noise, young Solomon?"
"Ah, that is for your wit to discover."
"Pardieu! here is a paladin come over, with the Hampshire mud still sticking to his shoes.
He means that the noise is less for our being out of the country."
"They are very quick in these parts," said Ford, turning to Alleyne.
"How are we to take this, sir?" asked the ruffling squire.
"You may take it as it comes," said Ford carelessly.
"Here is pertness!" cried the other.
"Sir, I honor your truthfulness," said Ford.
"Stint it, Humphrey," said the tall squire, with a burst of laughter.
"You will have little credit from this gentleman, I perceive.
Tongues are sharp in Hampshire, sir."
"And swords?"
"Hum! we may prove that.
In two days' time is the vepres du tournoi, when we may see if your lance is as quick as your wit."
"All very well, Roger Harcomb," cried a burly, bullnecked young man, whose square shoulders and massive limbs told of exceptional personal strength.
"You pass too lightly over the matter.
We are not to be so easily overcrowed.
The Lord Loring hath given his proofs; but we know nothing of his squires, save that one of them hath a railing tongue.
And how of you, young sir?" bringing his heavy hand down on Alleyne's shoulder.
"And what of me, young sir?"
"Ma foi! this is my lady's page come over.
Your cheek will be browner and your hand harder ere you see your mother again."
"If my hand is not hard, it is ready."
"Ready?
Ready for what?
For the hem of my lady's train?"
"Ready to chastise insolence, sir," cried Alleyne with hashing eyes.
"Sweet little coz!" answered the burly squire.
"Such a dainty color!
Such a mellow voice!
Eyes of a bashful maid, and hair like a three years' babe!
Voila!"
He passed his thick fingers roughly through the youth's crisp golden curls.
"You seek to force a quarrel, sir," said the young man, white with anger.
"And what then?"
"Why, you do it like a country boor, and not like a gentle squire.
Hast been ill bred and as ill taught.
I serve a master who could show you how such things should he done."
"And how would he do it, O pink of squires?"
"He would neither be loud nor would he be unmannerly, but rather more gentle than is his wont.