e probably suspected--as I supposed, and I supposed
right--that I wanted to steal some of the cloth, led to think so by his
own roguery and the bad opinion people have of tailors; and he told me to
see if there would be enough for two. I guessed what he would be at, and
I said 'yes.' He, still following up his original unworthy notion, went
on adding cap after cap, and I 'yes' after 'yes,' until we got as far as
five. He has just this moment come for them; I gave them to him, but he
won't pay me for the making; on the contrary, he calls upon me to pay
him, or else return his cloth."

"Is all this true, brother?" said Sancho.

"Yes," replied the man; "but will your worship make him show the five
caps he has made me?"

"With all my heart," said the tailor; and drawing his hand from under his
cloak he showed five caps stuck upon the five fingers of it, and said,
"there are the caps this good man asks for; and by God and upon my
conscience I haven't a scrap of cloth left, and I'll let the work be
examined by the inspectors of the trade."

All present laughed at the number of caps and the novelty of the suit;
Sancho set himself to think for a moment, and then said, "It seems to me
that in this case it is not necessary to deliver long-winded arguments,
but only to give off-hand the judgment of an honest man; and so my
decision is that the tailor lose the making and the labourer the cloth,
and that the caps go to the prisoners in the gaol, and let there be no
more about it."

If the previous decision about the cattle dealer's purse excited the
admiration of the bystanders, this provoked their laughter; however, the
governor's orders were after all executed. All this, having been taken
down by his chronicler, was at once despatched to the duke, who was
looking out for it with great eagerness; and here let us leave the good
Sancho; for his master, sorely troubled in mind by Altisidora's music,
has pressing claims upon us now.

CHAPTER XLVI.

OF THE TERRIBLE BELL AND CAT FRIGHT THAT DON QUIXOTE GOT IN THE COURSE OF
THE ENAMOURED ALTISIDORA'S WOOING

We left Don Quixote wrapped up in the reflections which the music of the
enamourned maid Altisidora had given rise to. He went to bed with them,
and just like fleas they would not let him sleep or get a moment's rest,
and the broken stitches of his stockings helped them. But as Time is
fleet and no obstacle can stay his course, he came riding on the hours,
and mornin