Jack answered by a graceful flourish of his hands, and a stave of another song.
“‘There’s never a maid in all this town
But she knows that malt’s come down, -
Malt’s come down,—malt’s come down,
From an old angel to a French crown.’”
“I would it were,” said Basset, folding his arms beneath his head. “I am as dry as a hornblower.”
“That is with blowing of thine own trumpet,” responded Jack. “I say, Tremayne! Give us thy thoughts for a silver penny.”
“Give me the penny first,” answered the meditative officer.
“Haven’t an obolus,” (halfpenny) confessed Jack.
“‘The cramp is in my purse full sore,
No money will bide therein—’”
“Another time,” observed Arthur Tremayne, “chaffer (deal in trade) not till thou hast wherewith to pay for the goods.”
“I am a gentleman, not a chapman,” (a retail tradesman) said Jack, superciliously.
“Could a man not be both?”