were so striking as to hold my attention unwittingly.

After a while he withdrew his glass, cast one look at me which might
have meant anything, and spoke up.

"Pray, my good Goble, why all this fol-de-rol about admitting a
gentleman to your house?"

I scarce know which was the more astonished, the landlord, John Paul, or
I. Goble bowed at the speaker.

"A gentleman, your honour!" he gasped. "Your honour is joking again.
Surely this trumpery Scotchman in Jews' finery is no gentleman, nor the
longshore lout he has got with him. They may go to the 'Swan.'"

"Jews' finery!" shouted the captain, with his fingers on his sword.

But the stranger held up a hand deprecatingly.

"'Pon my oath, Goble, I gave you credit for more penetration," he
drawled; "you may be right about the Scotchman, but your longshore lout
has had both birth and breeding, or I know nothing."

John Paul, who was in the act of bowing to the speaker, remained
petrified with his hand upon his heart, entirely discomfited. The
landlord forsook him instantly for me, then stole a glance at his guest
to test his seriousness, and looked at my face to see how greatly it
were at variance with my clothes. The temptation to lay hands on the
cringing little toadeater grew too strong for me, and I picked him up
by the scruff of the collar,--he was all skin and bones,--and spun him
round like a corpse upon a gibbet, while he cried mercy in a voice to
wake the dead. The slim gentleman under the sign laughed until he held
his sides, with a heartiness that jarred upon me. It did not seem to fit
him.

"By Hercules and Vulcan," he cried, when at last I had set the landlord
down, "what an arm and back the lad has! He must have the best in the
house, Goble, and sup with me."

Goble pulled himself together.

"And he is your honour's friend," he began, with a scowl.

"Ay, he is my friend, I tell you," retorted the important personage,
impatiently.

The innkeeper, sulky, half-satisfied, yet fearing to offend, welcomed us
with what grace he could muster, and we were shown to "The Fox and the
Grapes," a large room in the rear of the house.

John Paul had not spoken since the slim gentleman had drawn the
distinction between us, and I knew that the affront was rankling in his
breast. He cast himself into a chair with such an air of dejection as
made me pity him from my heart. But I had no consolation to offer. His
first words, far from being the torrent of protest I l