“That scar came not, my son, but by a pair of most Catholic and apostolic scissors. My gentle buzzard, that is a priest's tonsure.”
“Hang the dog! O, that the sailors may but see it, and put him over the quay head. I've a half mind to go and do it myself.”
“My dear Amyas,” said Frank, laying two fingers on his arm, “these men, whosoever they are, are the guests of our uncle, and therefore the guests of our family. Ham gained little by publishing Noah's shame; neither shall we, by publishing our uncle's.”
“Murrain on you, old Franky, you never let a man speak his mind, and shame the devil.”
“I have lived long enough in courts, old Amyas, without a murrain on you, to have found out, first, that it is not so easy to shame the devil; and secondly, that it is better to outwit him; and the only way to do that, sweet chuck, is very often not to speak your mind at all. We will go down and visit them at Chapel in a day or two, and see if we cannot serve these reynards as the badger did the fox, when he found him in his hole, and could not get him out by evil savors.”
“How then?”
“Stuck a sweet nosegay in the door, which turned reynard's stomach at once; and so overcame evil with good.”
“Well, thou art too good for this world, that's certain; so we will go home to breakfast. Those rogues are out of sight by now.”
Nevertheless, Amyas was not proof against the temptation of going over to the inn-door, and asking who were the gentlemen who went with Mr. Leigh.
“Gentlemen of Wales,” said the ostler, “who came last night in a pinnace from Milford-haven, and their names, Mr. Morgan Evans and Mr. Evan Morgans.”