“Zounds, villain, would you insult me?” said Jack, attempting to draw his sword. “Zounds, knave, have I lost all spirit that I must be insulted thus by such a pot cleaner as thou? Out on the man; for a groat I would run thee through and through thy fat carcase.”
“Silence, Jack, silence,” said Bates; “if you make any disturbance the officers will be called in, and then it will be all up with you. Put up your sword, I say.”
Jack thrust his blade back into its scabbard, and growled out a fierce oath of vengeance.
Bates waved off the landlord with a promise to pay all arrears, and then he said to Jack calmly, and in a whisper,
“Never mind the pot-bellied publican’s account. I will make that all right. Time is precious; I haven’t many minutes to stop here.”
“Well, what do you intend to do? Are you going to blow the gaff on an old pal like me?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Why this; none of us like Colonel Blood.”
“I know that well enough.”