"Morrice," said he solemnly, "I do verily believe you have naught but fish-blood in your veins."
Whereat I laughed, and he, coming over to me:
"Why, man," he cried, "had I your fortune on my back----"
"You would soon find it a ragged cloak," I interposed.
"And your sword at my side----"
"You would still lack my skill in using it."
Larke stopped short in his speech, and his face darkened. I had touched him in the tenderest part of his pride. Proficiency in manly exercises was the single quality on which he plumed himself, and so he had made it his daily habit to repair to the fencing-rooms of a noted French master, who dwelt in Noort-Eynde by the Witte Poort. Thither also, by dint of much pertinacity, for which I had grave reason to thank him afterwards, he had haled me for instruction in the art. Once I got there, however, the play fascinated me. The delicate intricacy of the movements so absorbed brain and muscle in a common service as to produce in me an inward sense of completeness, very sweet and strange to one of my halting diffidence. In consequence I applied myself with considerable enthusiasm, and in the end acquired some nimbleness with the rapier, or, to speak more truly, the foil. For as yet my skill had never been put to the test of a serious encounter.
Now, on the previous day Larke and I had fenced together throughout the afternoon, and fortune had sided with me in every bout; and it was, I think, the recollection of this which rankled within him. However, the fit soon passed--'twas not in his nature to be silent long--and he broke out again, seating himself in a chair by the table.
"Dost never dream of adventures, Morrice?" he asked. "A life brimful of them, and a quick death at the end?"
"I had as lief die in my bed," said I.