"I will lay no bet to that amount," said the mercer, something
sobered by an offer which intimated rather too private a knowledge on
Lambourne's part of the secret recesses of his shop. "I will lay no such
wager," he said; "but I will stake five angels against thy five, if thou
wilt, that Tony Foster will not leave his own roof, or come to ale-house
after prayer time, for thee, or any man."
"Content," said Lambourne.--"Here, uncle, hold stakes, and let one
of your young bleed-barrels there--one of your infant tapsters--trip
presently up to The Place, and give this letter to Master Foster, and
say that I, his ingle, Michael Lambourne, pray to speak with him at mine
uncle's castle here, upon business of grave import.--Away with thee,
child, for it is now sundown, and the wretch goeth to bed with the birds
to save mutton-suet--faugh!"
Shortly after this messenger was dispatched--an interval which was spent
in drinking and buffoonery--he returned with the answer that Master
Foster was coming presently.
"Won, won!" said Lambourne, darting on the stakes.
"Not till he comes, if you please," said the mercer, interfering.
"Why, 'sblood, he is at the threshold," replied Michael.--"What said he,
boy?"
"If it please your worship," answered the messenger, "he looked out of
window, with a musquetoon in his hand, and when I delivered your errand,
which I did with fear and trembling, he said, with a vinegar aspect,
that your worship might be gone to the infernal regions."
"Or to hell, I suppose," said Lambourne--"it is there he disposes of all
that are not of the congregation."
"Even so," said the boy; "I used the other phrase as being the more
poetical."
"An ingenious youth," said Michael; "shalt have a drop to whet thy
poetical whistle. And what said Foster next?"
"He called me back," answered the boy, "and bid me say you might come to
him if you had aught to say to him."
"And what next?" said Lambourne.
"He read the letter, and seemed in a fluster, and asked if your worship
was in drink; and I said you were speaking a little Spanish, as one who
had been in the Canaries."
"Out, you diminutive pint-pot, whelped of an overgrown reckoning!"
replied Lambourne--"out! But what said he then?"
"Why," said the boy, "he muttered that if he came not your worship would
bolt out what were better kept in; and so he took his old flat cap,
and threadbare blue cloak, and, as I said before, he will be here
incontinent."