"Parched wi' thirst I be!" he groaned.
"I've been the like ere now!" says I, and having gulped down what remained of the fellow's beer I tossed the jar into the road, whereat he beat his breast.
"My beer!" he wailed, "And I a-famishing wi' thirst! O my beer!"
"There's sweet water i' the brook yonder!" says I.
"You be a chap wi' no bowels, for sure!" he cried. "Aye, a hard man you be!"
"'Tis a hard world," says I, "but 'tis no matter for that, tell me of Sir Richard Brandon."
"Why then, you must know I am Myles Trueman--"
"And truly, man, there be miles of you, but 'tis no matter for that either--what of Sir Richard?"
"I do be coming to he," says Trueman in surly tone. "I do farm Sir Richard's land--a hard man, see you, though just."
"So--here's another hard man."
"Though a just--aye, and a godly! He hath restored our church weathercock an' all an' set up a fine, large and fair pillory on the green. Lunnon couldn't show a finer, wi' stocks an' cucking-stool complete and rare to fancy--"
"And findeth he the wherewithal to fill 'em?"
"That doth he! Aha, there be never a vagrant, gipsy nor beggar dare come anigh in Sir Richard's time. And witches be few hereabouts since old Mother Mottridge was ducked, and scolds and shrews be fewer by reason o' the brank, d'ye see?"
"Hum!" says I, "a right proper gentleman this!"
"Aye," quoth Trueman, nodding until his fat cheeks quivered, "and one that doth abhor vagrants and such-like vermin--"
"As myself?" says I. To this Trueman answered nothing, but fell a-fanning himself with his hat again, eyeing me warily the while.
"Art strange in these parts?" he questioned.
"Aye and no!"
"Hast met Sir Richard?"
"I have!"
"Aha!" quoth the fellow, nodding. "He had ye whipped, belike?"
"He did so."
"For stealing of a fine, fat capon, belike?"
"Nay, 'twas for another matter. But what of him, is he hale o' body, rich and well esteemed, is he strong in friends and a power at court yet?"
"No," says Trueman, flicking his plodding horses. "Neither one nor t'other!"
"How--not?" quoth I. "And wherefore?"
"Because he's dead--"
"Dead!" says I, starting up. "Dead?"
"Why look'ee, if he ain't dead--leastways--" But here I seized him by the throat and, twisting him round, shook him to and fro till he choked: "Rogue--damned rogue!" I cried 'twixt gnashing teeth. "Will ye mock me then!"
"No--no!" he gasped.
"Then tell me ye lied--confess!"
"Aye, aye--I'll confess--anything--anything ye will, master!"
"Then Sir Richard lieth snug in his manor of Shene--doth he not? Aye or no?"