My Lord Ashley would know if anything but furs grew in that wild New World.
"Furs?" says M. Radisson. "Sir, mark my words, 'tis a world that grows empires—also men," with an emphasis which those court dandies could not understand.
But the wise gentlemen only smiled at M. Radisson's warmth.
"If it grew good soldiers for our wars—" begins one military gentleman.
"Aye," flashes back M. Radisson ironically, "if it grows men for your wars and your butchery and your shambles! Mark my words: it is a land that grows men good for more than killing," and he smiles half in bitterness.
"'Tis a prodigious expensive land in diplomacy when men like you are let loose in it," remarks Arlington.
His Royal Highness rose to take his leave.
"You will present a full report to His Majesty at Oxford," he orders M. Radisson in parting.
Then the council dispersed.
"Oxford," says M. Radisson, as we picked our way home through the dark streets; "an I go to meet the king at Oxford, you will see a hornets' nest of jealousy about my ears."