The weight of an enormous head, on
the top of which his grey wig seemed to be balanced rather than
fitted, bowed him as he moved. But he drew himself up to salute the
two captains.
"Glad to welcome ye, Captain John, along with master here. Hey, but
you've aged--the pair o' ye."
"Simeon," said his master, "draw us some beer. Aged, you say?"
"Aye--aged, aged: a trivial, remediless complaint, common to folk.
Valiant deeds ye'll do yet, my masters; but though I likes to be
hopeful, the door's closin' on ye both. Ye be staid to the eye,
noticeably staid. The first sign o't, to be marked at forty or so,
is when a woman's blush pales before wine held to the light; the
second, and that, too, ye've passed--"
"Hurry, you old fool! As it happens you've been proving us a pair of
raw striplings."
"Hee-hee," tittered the old man sardonically, and catching up the
tankards trotted back to the house, with his master at his heels.
Captain Barker, left alone, rearranged his neckcloth, contemplated
his crooked legs for a moment with some disgust, and began to trot up
and down the grass-plot, whistling the while with great energy and no
regard for tune.
The pair reappeared in the doorway--Captain Runacles bearing an
hour-glass and a volume of "Purchas," and Simeon the tankards,
crowned with a creamy froth.
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