Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. I'll have no such toast drunk at my table!" "It's the king's birthday," urged the woollen draper. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. ’ Trodger had started towards the stairs, signing to his men to get behind the lady. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal.
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