shrewdly suspected that the collation of black bread and sausage formed
the sole meal of the day for many of them. Nevertheless, their hilarity
was undiminished, and the rafters rang with song and laugh, and echoed
also maledictions upon a supine Government, and on the rapacious Rhine
lords. But the bestowal of even black bread and the least expensive of
wine could not continue indefinitely. They owed a bill to the landlord
upon which that worthy, patient as he had proved himself, always hoping
for better times, wished for at least something on account. All his
other customers had deserted him, and if they drank at all, chose some
place where the wine was thin and cheap. The landlord held out bravely
for three months after Roland was elected president, then, bemoaning his
fate, informed the guild that he would be compelled to close the
Rheingold tavern.

"Give me a week!" cried Roland, rising in his place at the head of the
table, "and I will make an effort to get enough gold to settle the bill
at least, with perhaps something over for each of our pockets."

This promise brought forth applause and a rattle of flagons on the
table, so palpably empty that the ever-hopeful landlord proceeded
forthwith to fill them.

"There is one proviso," said Roland, as they drank his health in the
wine his offer produced. "To get this money I must do something in
return. I have a plan in mind which it would be premature to disclose.
If it succeeds, none of us will ever need to bend back over a workman's
bench again, or hammer metal except for our own pleasure. But acting
alone I am powerless, so I must receive your promise that you will stand
by any pledge I make on your behalf, and follow me into whatever danger
I choose to lead you."