Part 17 (2/2)
”Maybe I wouldn't,” said the story-teller.
”Play with him, husband,” said his wife. ”I don't mind walking, if you do, love.”
”I never refused you before,” said the story-teller, ”and I won't do so now.”
Down he sat again, and in one throw lost horses, hounds, and chariot.
”Will you play again?” asked the beggar.
”Are you making game of me, man; what else have I to stake?”
”I'll stake all my winnings against your wife,” said the old man.
The story-teller turned away in silence, but his wife stopped him.
”Accept his offer,” said she. ”This is the third time, and who knows what luck you may have? You'll surely win now.”
They played again, and the story-teller lost. No sooner had he done so, than to his sorrow and surprise, his wife went and sat down near the ugly old beggar.
”Is that the way you're leaving me?” said the story-teller.
”Sure I was won,” said she. ”You would not cheat the poor man, would you?”
”Have you any more to stake?” asked the old man.
”You know very well I have not,” replied the story-teller.
”I'll stake the whole now, wife and all, against your own self,” said the old man.
Again they played, and again the story-teller lost.
”Well! Here I am, and what do you want with me?”
”I'll soon let you know,” said the old man, and he took from his pocket a long cord and a wand.
”Now,” said he to the story-teller, ”what kind of animal would you rather be, a deer, a fox, or a hare? You have your choice now, but you may not have it later.”
To make a long story short, the story-teller made his choice of a hare; the old man threw the cord round him, struck him with the wand, and lo! a long-eared, frisking hare was skipping and jumping on the green.
But it wasn't for long; who but his wife called the hounds, and set them on him. The hare fled, the dogs followed. Round the field ran a high wall, so that run as he might, he couldn't get out, and mightily diverted were beggar and lady to see him twist and double.
In vain did he take refuge with his wife, she kicked him back again to the hounds, until at length the beggar stopped the hounds, and with a stroke of the wand, panting and breathless, the story-teller stood before them again.
”And how did you like the sport?” said the beggar.
”It might be sport to others,” replied the story-teller, looking at his wife, ”for my part I could well put up with the loss of it.”
”Would it be asking too much,” he went on to the beggar, ”to know who you are at all, or where you come from, or why you take a pleasure in plaguing a poor old man like me?”
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