‘By no means,’ said the landlord, ‘because why? - I conceives that a cross is a certainty to those who are in it, whereas by the fair thing one may lose all he has.’ ‘But,’ said I, ‘you said the other day that you liked the fair thing.’ ‘That was by way of gammon,’ said the landlord; ‘just, do you see, as a Parliament cove might say, speechifying from a barrel to a set of flats, whom he means to sell. Come, what do you think of the plan?’

‘It is a very ingenious one,’ said I.

‘Ain’t it?’ said the landlord. ‘The folks in this neighbourhood are beginning to call me old fool; but if they don’t call me something else, when they sees me friends with the brewer, and money in my pocket, my name is not Catchpole. Come, drink your ale, and go home to the young gentlewoman.’

‘I am going,’ said I, rising from my seat, after finishing the remainder of the ale.

‘Do you think she’ll have any objection?’ said the landlord.

‘To do what?’ said I.

‘Why, to fight cross.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said I.

‘But you will do your best to persuade her?’

‘No, I will not,’ said I.

‘Are you fool enough to wish to fight fair?’

‘No,’ said I, ‘I am wise enough to wish not to fight at all.’

‘And how’s my brewer to be paid?’ said the landlord.

‘I really don’t know,’ said I.

‘I’ll change my religion,’ said the landlord.


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