The bulky sea-captain, with a most offensive affectation of alacrity, skipped to obey. He swept the chair with his hat; more, he produced from somewhere an enormous blue handkerchief like a small ensign, and elaborately polished the seat with it.
“Now,” says he, “if your lordship’s breeches will deign to reconsecrate the altar my top-gear hath profaned.”
The Duke, his elbow leaned on the table, shaded his face with his palm, and laughed noiselessly. As for the sweet puppy himself, self-esteem had thickened his moral cuticle beyond penetration by anything less than a pickaxe of ridicule. He closed his lids, and, with an ineffable smile and wave of the hand, dropped languidly into the proffered place. Duke and Captain continued for a while their investigation of the chart. Then the former put it away, and, leaning back in his chair, addressed a question to the latter.
“What is this I hear, Captain, of decent folk impressed illegally in the City by order of my Lord Mayor?”
The burly seaman shrugged his shoulders.
“He’s an ass, sir, that Bludworth, yet an ass in some sort deserving commendation.”
“In what way?”
“Why, in the way that leads by short-cuts to disputed ends. He gets there, while your wise man talks.”
“Aye, but he tramples rights to do it.”
“He may. We must have men.”