Galloping Dick
“Why here is praise,” says this popinjay; “fie, fie,” and laughs immoderately. And then, “Why where is my manners,” he cries, “to have sat down to wine without a knowledge of my worthy host?”
“My name, Sir Ralph,” said I, “is Ryder, at your command, and I pursue the life of a gentleman of ease.”
“And a damned good calling,” he says heartily. “And I’ll swear you make an excellent living of it.”
I looked at him with a suspicious eye, for the turn of his words took me aback; but he regarded me very innocently. And “You are a friend, then,” he asked, “of my poor Baverstock, there?”
“Friend!” says I, “as much of a friend as to be drawing upon him on your interruption.”
“Why,” he says laughing, “a very proper sign of friendship—as we agreed.”
“I cannot abide sour looks,” I said.
“Aye,” said he, “he is of a fanatical design; and so, in sooth, are they all. I have never clapped eyes on His Gracious Majesty King
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