"Nay," quoth the landlord, standing in front of him and holding out his
arms like a gooseherd driving his flock, for money made him bold, "thou
goest not till thou hast paid me my score."

"But did not he pay thee?"

"Not so much as one farthing; and ten good shillings' worth of ale have
ye drunk this day. Nay, I say, thou goest not away without paying me,
else shall our good Sheriff know of it."

"But nought have I to pay thee with, good fellow," quoth the Tinker.

"'Good fellow' not me," said the landlord. "Good fellow am I not when
it cometh to lose ten shillings! Pay me that thou owest me in broad
money, or else leave thy coat and bag and hammer; yet, I wot they
are not worth ten shillings, and I shall lose thereby. Nay, an thou
stirrest, I have a great dog within and I will loose him upon thee.
Maken, open thou the door and let forth Brian if this fellow stirs one
step."

"Nay," quoth the Tinker--for, by roaming the country, he had learned
what dogs were--"take thou what thou wilt have, and let me depart in
peace, and may a murrain go with thee. But oh, landlord! An I catch yon
scurvy varlet, I swear he shall pay full with usury for that he hath
had!"

So saying, he strode away toward the forest, talking to himself, while
the landlord and his worthy dame and Maken stood looking after him, and
laughed when he had fairly gone.