Brown finished his beer and sat back.
"That," he said, "That was a proper 1420, that was."
When they had brought Gaffer Hugo in, Brown had tried to get close to see what the trouble was. It was no good, of course; there was too much of a crowd. Knowing he couldn't do anything to help, Brown had returned to his stool to finish his breakfast. However, he was concerned about the Gaffer (and a bit curious, too). If he was injured, he might be in any condition to come along - not where they would be going.
Well, he thought, I'd better see how he is.
Brown arose with that intention and found himself faced with the innkeeper, who held out a long, narrow piece of paper on which was scrawled a rather long list of items. He stared at it, confused.
10 pints of stout? Lamb hocks? Lentil stew? What?
"Your bill, master." The innkeeper clearly knew something Brown did not.
"My bill?" replied Brown, who was by this time thoroughly bewildered.
"Aye..." returned the innkeeper, who was now looking at Brown with somewhat narrowed eyes. "The young ladies over there" (he jerked his head towards their table) "said you'd be payin'."
Brown looked over towards Bunny and her companions. Conversation had been subdued when Gaffer Hugo came in injured, but now Bunny was laughing and chatting with her friends as if nothing in the world was the matter. Then Brown understood.
"Just a moment," he said to the innkeeper, and headed over towards Bunny's table. He tried to look stern.
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