“There you are! because for the moment you were really what you had pretended to be—under the spell. Could you ask a better proof?”
“No, that’s true. But it’s hard to feign the fire you do not feel.”
Hamilton laughed indulgently.
“You take things too seriously. Convince yourself you do not care whatever happens, and Fortune will be kind to you. It is the jade’s way, being a woman. Indifference to her is the only thing she cannot resist. And it isn’t as if the fruit you were asked to handle were rotten medlers. Here’s a sweet country nectarine for which a very epicure might envy you.”
“A country crab, I think, as biting as she’s little. Well?”
“Well, is this to forget yourself in livelier company? Marry, Phil, if you can laugh at nothing else, laugh at yourself—always the best fool in a man’s household. But, come, I’ll give you distraction. Here’s a story just on the town of two rogue apothecaries, partners, which might point the moral of an Æsop’s fable. Have you heard it?”
Chesterfield, his eyes perfectly lacklustre, muttered some incoherent response. The other proceeded, undaunted—
“Nixon and Carter were they called, and both attended, among others, on a certain ailing miserly old widow, waiving their fees in hope of some rich bequest half promised to them for their devotion. The day before she died she sent them two old shabby worn-out cloaks, one cloth, one velvet, in reward of their long services to her, and of these garments, Nixon, as the elder, was to choose which he would, the other going to his partner. They were well mad, I can promise you, but, making the best of it, Nixon chose the cloth, as being the more serviceable, and after, in derision, offered to part with it to Carter for a shilling. Which, promptly agreeing to, and securing his bargain, Carter, the more astute knave, discovered each of its twelve buttons to be a gold Carolus hidden under cloth. And so they were at it, Nixon demanding back his goods and Carter resisting, till from quarrelling they came to blows and Nixon killed Carter, for which Nixon is to be hanged. And now comes in the lovely moral; for it seems they were both Fifth Monarchist men, owing their lives to the Act of Indemnity, yet who would have cut off their right hands rather than help the King to a tester of his own coin. And the end is these twelve gold pounds are forfeit to the Crown. What think you of that for a rare combination of law and justice?”
Receiving no answer, he looked at his companion, and perceived him patently oblivious to every word he was saying. He exclaimed, and laid his hand on the door.
“What now?” said Chesterfield, waking up.