Page:Waverley Novels, vol. 23 (1831).djvu/43



"Well, kinsman," said mine host, "it is my business to sell wine to those who can buy it--so, Jack Tapster, do me thine office. But I would I knew how to come by money as lightly as thou dost, Mike."

"Why, uncle," said Lambourne, "I will tell thee a secret. Dost see this little old fellow here? as old and withered a chip as ever the devil put into his porridge--and yet, uncle, between you and me--he hath Potosi in that brain of his--'sblood! he can coin ducats faster than I can vent oaths."

"I will have none of his coinage in my purse, though, Michael," said mine host; "I know what belongs to falsifying the Queen's coin."

"Thou art an ass, uncle, for as old as thou art.--Pull me not by the skirts, doctor, thou art an ass thyself to boot--so, being both asses, I tell ye I spoke but metaphorically."

"Are you mad?" said the old man; "is the devil in you? Can you not let us begone without drawing all men's eyes on us?"

"Sayest thou?" said Lambourne. "Thou art deceived now--no man shall see you, an I give the word.--By heavens, masters, an any one dare to look on this old gentleman, I will slash the eyes out of his head with my poniard!--So sit down, old friend, and be merry; these are mine ingles--mine ancient inmates, and will betray no man."

"Had you not better withdraw to a private apartment, nephew?" said Giles Gosling. "You speak strange matter," he added, "and there be intelligencers everywhere."