“It may be your own fault if your dream comes not-true,” said Varney. “Are you needy?”
“Um!” replied Lambourne; “I love pleasure.”
“That is a sufficient answer, and an honest one,” said Varney. “Know you aught of the requisites expected from the retainer of a rising courtier?”
“I have imagined them to myself, sir,” answered Lambourne; “as for example, a quick eye—a close mouth—a ready and bold hand—a sharp wit, and a blunt conscience.”
“And thine, I suppose,” said Varney, “has had its edge blunted long since?”
“I cannot remember, sir, that its edge was ever over keen,” replied Lambourne. “When I was a youth, I had some few whimsies, but I rubbed them partly out of my recollection on the rough grindstone of the wars, and what remained I washed out in the broad waves of the Atlantic.”
“Thou hast served, then, in the Indies?”
“In both East and West,” answered the candidate for court-service, “by both sea and land; I have served both the Portugal and the Spaniard—both the Dutchman and the Frenchman, and have made war on our own account with a crew of jolly fellows, who held there was no peace beyond the Line.”[1]
“Thou mayst do me, and my lord, and thyself, good service,” said Varney, after a pause. “But observe, I know the world—and answer me truly, canst thou be faithful?”
- ↑ Sir Francis Drake, Morgan, and many a bold Buccanier of those days, were, in fact, little better than pirates.
