"I doubt it not, mon ami," quoth the archer, going back to his tankard.
He could do more than drink a sup and turn the tankard up, he could.
Tears of the tankard, drops of good liquor that falls aside.
"This—on information received," replied Easleby, as he lifted his tankard.
Now and then, because his mouth was dry, he took a sip of beer from his tankard.
The metathesis ...