“Oh, look you, words mean different in the Court,” crieth Aunt Joyce, “from what they do in Derwent-dale and at Minster Lovel. If we pay not our debts here, we go to prison; and folks do but say, Served him right! But if they pay them not there, why, the poor tailor and jeweller must feed their starving childre on the sight of my Lord of Essex’ gold lace, and the smell of my Lord of Oxenford his perfumes. Do but think, what a rare supper they shall have!”
“Now, hearken, Walter,” saith Father. “I must have thee draw up a list of all thy debts, what sum, for what purpose, and to whom owing: likewise a list of all debts due to thee.”
“But you would not ask for loans back, Sir?” cries Wat.
“That depends on whom they were lent to,” answers Father. “If to a poor man that can scarce pay his way, no. But if to my cousin of Oxenford and such like gallants that have plenty wherewith to pay, then ay.”
“They would think it so mean, Sir!” saith Walter, diseasefully.
“Let them so do,” saith Father. “I shall sleep quite as well.”
“But really, Sir, I could not remember all.”
“Then set down what thou canst remember.”
Walter looked as if he would liefer do aught else.
“And, my son,” saith Father, so gently that it was right tender, “I must take thee away from the Court.”