“I hope she will keep a warm corner for me,” said the beggar; “for no man will treat for her marriage save myself.”
“Thou! Old man, who sent thee here to insult us?” cried the merchant.
“None, Master Lambert. I trysted you to meet me here if you purposed still to seek my child in marriage.”
“Thy child?” cried all three, vehemently.
“My child!” answered the beggar. “Mine own lawful child.”
There was a silence. Presently Samson growled, “I mind me he used to have a little black-eyed brat with him.”
“Caitiff!” exclaimed the merchant; “I’ll have thy old vagabond bones in the Fleet for daring so to cheat his Grace’s lieges.”
“If you can prove a cheat against me I will readily abye it, Sir,” returned the beggar.
“Palming a beggar’s brat off for a noble dame.”
“So please you, Sir,” interrupted the beggar, “keep truth with you. What did the child or I ever profess, save what we were? No foul words here. I trysted you to meet me here, anent her marriage. Have you any offers to make me?”