"Passers and Flinchers is what I call them!" And a stout heavy man, whose small pointed grey beard did but emphasise the coarse virility of the face above it, appeared on the threshold, glaring at the four.

"Pastors ?" he repeated defiantly.
"Passers and Flinchers, I say!" "In Heaven's name, Messer Grio!" the landlord protested, hovering at his shoulder, "these are strangers----" "Strangers?
Ay, and flinchers, they too!" the intruder retorted, heedless of the remonstrance.

And he lurched into the room, a bulky, reeling figure in stained green and tarnished lace.

"Four flinchers! But I'll make them drink a cup with me or I'll prick their hides! Do you think we shed blood for you and are to be stinted of our liquor!" "Messer Grio! Messer Grio!" the landlord cried, wringing his hands.

"You will be my ruin!" "No fear!" "But I do fear!" the host retorted sharply, going so far as to lay a hand on his shoulder.