"
"Well, sir," said Jenkin--"we will find arms fitting to our station,
and will defend our master and his daughter, if we should tear up the
very stones of the pavement."
"There spoke a London 'prentice bold," said the citizen; "and, for
your comfort, my lads, you shall crush a cup of wine to the health of
the Fathers of the City. I have my eye on both of you--you are
thriving lads, each in his own way.--God be wi' you, Davie. Forget not
to-morrow at noon." And, so saying, he again turned his mule's head
westward, and crossed Temple Bar, at that slow and decent amble, which
at once became his rank and civic importance, and put his pedestrian
followers to no inconvenience to keep up with him.
At the Temple gate he again paused, dismounted, and sought his way
into one of the small booths occupied by scriveners in the
neighbourhood. A young man, with lank smooth hair combed straight to
his ears, and then cropped short, rose, with a cringing reverence,
pulled off a slouched hat, which he would upon no signal replace on
his head, and answered with much demonstration of reverence, to the
goldsmith's question of, "How goes business, Andrew?"--"Aw the better
for your worship's kind countenance and maintenance."
"Get a large sheet of paper, man, and make a new pen, with a sharp
neb, and fine hair-stroke. Do not slit the quill up too high, it's a
wastrife course in your trade, Andrew--they that do not mind corn-
pickles, never come to forpits.
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