CHAPTER III

And so Marco Polo went into the wine-shop to see and hear the
strange foreign people.

It was a dark, long room, very high, full of shadows between the
flaming torches on the wall. At one side of it was a great fire
burning, for all it was the first night of spring. At one end of
it were the great barrels of liquor for the thirsty customers;
black beer for the English and the Irish, grand, hairy stuff with
great foam to it, and brown beer for the Germans; and there was
white wine there for the French people, and red wine for the Italians,
asquebaugh for the Scots, and rum from the sugar cane for such as had
cold in their bones. There was all kind of drink there in the
brass-bound barrels -- drink would make you mad and drink would make
you merry, drink would put heart in a timid man and drink would make
fighting men peaceful as pigeons; and drink that would make you
forget trouble -- all in the brass-bound barrels at the end of the room.
And pleasant, fat little men were roaming around serving the varied
liquor in little silver cups, and fine Venetian glasses for the wine,
and in broad-bellied drinking-pots that would hold more than a quart.

And there was such a babel of language as was never heard but in
one place before.

Some of the drinkers were dicing and shouting as they won, and
grumbling and cursing when they lost. And some were singing.