Nick's mouth twists up in a near-smile, because tailoring is not a word that he feels applies to him. He has good posture, or at least he thinks so, but the closest he comes to tailoring is stitching up the tears in his shirts when he wears them thin.

He takes the ale, since it's closest to what he thinks of as 'a beer', and raises his glass to Arthur. Then he sets it down and taps the I will pay you back on his palm.

No charity, he explains on a napkin.