"Sall," cried the odious woman, "fetch a mop and a pail of dirty water, and I'll trundle that dirk out of his fist."
"No, no," replied another rather good-looking young woman, "leave him to me—don't hurt him—he really is a very nice little man. What's your name, my dear?"
"Peter Simple is my name," replied I; "and I am a king's officer, so be careful what you are about."
"Don't be afraid, Peter, nobody shall hurt you; but you must not draw your dirk before ladies, that's not like an officer and a gentleman—so put up your dirk, that's a good boy."
"I will not," replied I, "unless you promise me that I shall go away unmolested."
"I do promise you that you shall, upon my word, Peter—upon my honour— will that content you?"
"Yes," replied I, "if every one else will promise the same."
"Upon our honours," they all cried together; upon which I was satisfied, and putting my dirk into its sheath, was about to quit the room.
"Stop, Peter," said the young woman who had taken my part; "I must have a kiss before you go." "And so must I; and so must we all," cried the other women.
I was very much shocked, and attempted to draw my dirk again, but they had closed in with me, and prevented me. "Recollect your honour," cried I to the young woman, as I struggled.