think on't."

Within-doors, in the Triple Tun's best room, where much sherris sack was
being drunk, a gentleman with a long face, and mustachios twirled to a
point, leaned his arm upon the table and addressed him whose pledge had
been so general. "_Armida gardens_ and _silver-singing mermaiden_ and
_Aphrodite England_ quotha! _Pike and cutlass and good red gold!_ saith
the plain man. O Apollo, what a thing it is to be learned and a maker
of songs!"

Athwart his laughing words came from the lower end of the board a deep
and harsh voice. The speaker was Captain Robert Baldry of the _Star_,
and he used the deliberation of one who in his drinking had gone far and
fast. "I pledge all scholars turned soldiers," he said, "all courtiers
who stay not at court, all poets who win tall ships at the point of a
canzonetta! Did Sir Mortimer Ferne make verses--elegies and epitaphs and
such toys--at Fayal in the Azores two years ago?"

There followed his speech, heard of all in the room, a moment of amazed
silence. Mortimer Ferne put his tankard softly down and turned in his
seat so that he might more closely observe his fellow adventurer.

"For myself, when an Armada is at my heels, the cares of the moon do not
concern me," went on Baldry, with the gravity of an oracle. "Had Nero
not fiddled, perhaps Rome had not burned."

"And where got you that information, sir?" asked his host, in a most
courtier-like voice.

"Oh, in the streets of Rome, a thousand years ago! 'Twas common talk."
The Captain of the _Star_ tilted his cup and was grieved to find
it empty.

"I have later news," said the other, as smoothly as before. "At Fayal in
the Azores--"

He was interrupted by Sir John Nevil, who had risen from his chair, and
beneath whose stare of surprise and anger Baldry, being far from actual
drunkenness, moved uneasily.

"I will speak, Mortimer," said the Admiral, "Captain Baldry not being my
guest. Sir, at Fayal in the Azores that disastrous day we did what we
could--mortal men can do no more. Taken by surprise as we were, ships
were lost and brave men tasted death, but there was no shame. He who
held command that lamentable day was Captain--now Sir Mortimer--Ferne;
for I, who was Admiral of the expedition, must lie in my cabin, ill
almost unto death of a calenture. I dare aver that no wiser head ever
drew safety for many from such extremity of peril, and no readier sword
ever dearly avenged one day's defeat and loss. Your news, si