“You would not throw him in?” said Sir Mark.
“No; but I might push him in, and leave him to get out how he could. But there, you can send word to his Majesty that he has been deceived. Certainly I sell powder to go abroad along with my guns—powder made of the softest dogwood charcoal we can burn.”
“Yes,” said Sir Mark; “I could, as you say, send word to his Majesty that it is not so, but it would require backing up with stronger asseveration.”
“To be sure,” said the founder; “and that you will make. You tell his Majesty that I am the last man in the kingdom to do him harm.”
“Why should I tell him this, Master Cobbe?”
“Why? Why tell him?” said the blunt founder. “Why? Because it is the truth.”
Sir Mark smiled, and stood apparently thinking for a while before he spoke again.
“Master Cobbe, I have the power to place in thy hands,” he said at last, “the supplying of as many pieces of ordnance, and as much good, strong powder, as thou could’st make, for the use of his Majesty’s forces, in an expedition to be sent to Holland. What say you; will you supply the guns?”
“Price, my lad, price? Will his Highness pay me well?”
“I will undertake to say that he will, Master Cobbe; and, what is more, I can see that it is done. Make your own fair, honest charge for the pieces and their food, and there will be no demur.”