“Do you fancy, Master Paul, that gammon like this can impose upon a man of my sort?”
“My dear and worthy friend,” rejoined Classon, “the tone in which I appeal to you is my tribute to your high ability. To an inferior man I had spoken very different language. Sentiments are not the less real that they are expressed with a certain embroidery, just as a Bank post-bill would be very good value though a Choctaw Indian might deem it a piece of waste-paper.”
“I 'd like to see you try it on with Lizzy in this fashion,” said Davis. “I don't think even your friend the Choctaw Indian would save you.”
“I should be proud of even defeat at such hands!” exclaimed Paul, rapturously.
“You 'd have little to be proud of when she 'd have done with you,” cried Grog, all his good-humor restored by the mere thought of his daughter.
“Have you spoken to his Lordship about what I mentioned?” said Paul, half diffidently.
“No,” said Grog; “on reflection, I thought it better not. I 'm sure, besides, that there's no Church preferment in his gift; and then, Classon, he knows you, as who does not?”
“'Quæ regio terræ non plena est?' Ay, Grog, you and I have arrived at what the world calls Fame.”
“Speak for yourself, sir; I acknowledge no partnership in the case. When I have written letters, they have not been begging ones; and when I have stretched out my hand, there was no pistol in the palm of it!”
“Very true, Kit; I never had a soul above petty larceny, and you had a spirit that aspired to transportation for life.”