'What think ye, Micah?' said the landlord. 'There was the Squire o'
Milton over here yester morning wi' Johnny Ferneley o' the Bank side,
and they will have it that there's a man in Fareham who could wrestle
you, the best of three, and find your own grip, for a good round stake.'

'Tut! tut!' I answered; 'you would have me like a prize mastiff,
showing my teeth to the whole countryside. What matter if the man can
throw me, or I him?'

'What matter? Why, the honour of Havant,' quoth he. 'Is that no
matter? But you are right,' he continued, draining off his horn.
'What is all this village life with its small successes to such as you?
You are as much out of your place as a vintage wine at a harvest supper.
The whole of broad England, and not the streets of Havant, is the fit
stage for a man of your kidney. What have you to do with the beating
of skins and the tanning of leather?'

'My father would have you go forth as a knight-errant, Micah,' said
Reuben, laughing. 'You might chance to get your own skin beaten and
your own leather tanned.'

'Who ever knew so long a tongue in so short a body?' cried the
innkeeper. 'But in good sooth, Master Micah, I am in sober earnest when
I say that you are indeed wasting the years of your youth, when life is
sparkling and clear, and that you will regret it when you have come to
the flat and flavourless dregs of old age.'

'There spoke the brewer,' said Reuben; 'but indeed, Micah, my father is
right, for all that he hath such a hops-and-water manner of putting it.'