"To be sure," said he, "I know. This is my servant. That is precisely
what I mean." His wits were at work to find a way out of his difficulty.
"This is my servant? What then?" he asked fiercely.

"But I don't understand," said the landlord.

"You don't understand!" cried Wogan. "Was there ever such a landlord? He
does not understand. This is my servant, I tell you."

"Yes, sir, but--but--"

"Well?"

"We were roused--there was a noise--a noise of men fighting."

"There would have been no noise," said Wogan, triumphantly, "if you had
prepared a bed for my servant. He would not have crept into my cupboard
to sleep off his drunkenness."

"But, sir, there was a bed."

"You should have seen that he was carried to it. As it is, here have I
been driven to beat him and to lose my night's rest in consequence. It
is not fitting. I do not think that your inn is well managed."

Wogan expressed his indignation with so majestic an air that the
landlord was soon apologising for having disturbed a gentleman in the
proper exercise of belabouring his valet.

"We will carry the fellow away," said he.