all
too hot and wonder what he should do next.

Finally he mustered courage enough to turn about and survey with
shamefaced mien the tavern interior. As he turned the four guests
dropped their eyes with painful unanimity and the drawer fell to
scouring a pewter mug with his apron. Only the boy perched on the cask
kept his eyes obstinately fixed on the stranger.

Droop now noticed for the first time that behind the casks there was a
snug recess containing a table and two well-worn benches, evidently
intended for the entertainment of guests desirous of a _tete-a-tete_.

Thither he at once directed his steps, and seating himself upon one of
the benches, looked about him for a bell. He could hear the three men at
the long table whispering busily, and could see that they had their
heads together.

The fat man stirred in his chair with a rolling motion.

"Drawer!" he called.

"Here!" cried the drawer, bustling up to the fire.

"A second tankard of that same sack, boy. Bustle, bustle!"

"I must first to my mistress, sir," was the reply. "Nothing for credit,
sir, save by permission."

"A pox upon thee!" growled the thirsty man. "On thee and thy mistress,
too!"

Muttering and shaking his head, the ponderous guest stretched forth his
legs, closed his eyes, and composed himself for a nap.

The drawer tipped a wink to the grinning pot-boy on the cask, and then
bustled over to Droop's table, which he proceeded to wipe vigorously
with his apron.

"Did you call, sir?" he said.

"Yes," said Copernicus. "Bring me a schooner of light lager."

The drawer's busy apron hand stopped at once and its owner leaned hard
on the table.

"What command gave you, sir?" he said.

"Marry--a schooner of lager--light, forsooth!" Droop repeated.

"Cry you mercy, sir," said the drawer, straightening up, "this be the
Boar's Head Tavern, sir. What may your worship require by way of food
and drink?"

"These old-timers beat all creation for ignorance," muttered Droop.
Then, looking up into the man's face, he called for one drink after
another, watching hopefully for some sign of answering intelligence.

"Give me a Scotch high-ball. No? Then a gin sling. Hot Tom and Jerry,
then. Marry, an egg flip, i' faith! Ain't got 'em? Get me a brandy
smash--a sherry cobbler--a gin rickey--rock and rye--a whisky sour--a
mint julep! What! Nothin'? What in thunder _do_ ye sell, then?"

The drawer scratched his head, and then grinned suddenly and gav