I've got a fountain pen!" "You'd better have a drink of whiskey first; your hand will be too shaky to write your usual handwriting," said the thoughtful Tinker, handing him the bottle along with the note-paper.
Mr.Lambert took a drink, and indeed it steadied his hand.

Sure that he could make it useless, he wrote a careful and complete letter, lying at full length on the floor, his only possible writing table.
He scrambled up, and thrust it through the window, crying, "Here you are! Let me out!" Tinker spelled the letter carefully through, and put it into another letter he had already prepared to send to Sir Tancred's solicitors.
Then he handed the money-lender a thick venison sandwich, cut while he had been writing.
The tears ran down Mr.Lambert's face as his furious jaws bit into it.
"Don't wolf it!" said Tinker sternly.

"Starving men should feed slowly." Mr.Lambert had no restraint; he did wolf it.

Then he asked for more.
"In a quarter of an hour," said Tinker, and he gave him nothing sooner for all his clamorous entreaties.
After a second sandwich the money-lender was another man, and Tinker, seeing that he was not ill, said, "I must be going; I have a long ride to post this letter"; and he began to hand in the rest of the food through the window.
"Be careful not to eat it all up at once," he said.

"It's got to last you till to-morrow." "What's this! What's this!" cried Mr.Lambert.