"
"Umph!--cash-keeper?" muttered Sir Mungo to himself; "he would have
had an easy office when I first kend ye.--But," said he, speaking
aloud, "will you not come to the window, at least? for Knighton has
trundled a piece of silver-plate into your house--ha! ha! ha!--
trundled it upon its edge, as a callan' would drive a hoop. I cannot
help laughing--ha! ha! ha!--at the fellow's impudence."
"I believe you could not help laughing," said George Heriot, rising up
and leaving the room, "if your best friend lay dying."
"Bitter that, my lord--ha?" said Sir Mungo, addressing Nigel. "Our
friend is not a goldsmith for nothing--he hath no leaden wit. But I
will go down, and see what comes on't."
Heriot, as he descended the stairs, met his cash-keeper coming up,
with some concern in his face.--"Why, how now, Roberts," said the
goldsmith, "what means all this, man?"
"It is Knighton, Master Heriot, from the Court--Knighton, the Duke's
man. He brought back the salver you carried to Whitehall, flung it
into the entrance as if it had been an old pewter platter, and bade me
tell you the king would have none of your trumpery."
"Ay, indeed," said George Heriot--"None of my trumpery!--Come hither
into the compting-room, Roberts.--Sir Mungo," he added, bowing to the
knight, who had joined, and was preparing to follow them, "I pray your
forgiveness for an instant.
Pages:
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162