Of a Meeting near Fulham
as ever, “I should be pleased to learn of you.”
“Oh, damme,” says I, “I’ll teach you a proper trade. ’Tis better than to cozen old madams of their jewels, and to snip the fallals off young punks. Sure, that is a sorry business for a Quaker-bodied respectable old gentleman like you.”
I thought he winced ever so slightly at that, but then, sending me one of his sly and smiling glances, he remarked—
“Captain Ryder, if you can teach me a profession proper to my years, I can promise you the gratitude of my friends;” and, making me a polite bow, he sat in his saddle, as though awaiting orders with docile attention.
But somehow (I could not say why), the terms of his reply deranged me. There was an air about him that was new to me, and I was bewildered whether he was mocking at me, or merely sitting at my feet like an ignoramus. I cast him up with as shrewd a gaze as I might, measuring him from his silver spurs to his big black wig which he wore in the
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