"Where on earth have you been, Sherry?" asked Harry, as his man re-entered the inn.
"Payen a visit to a cousin o' mine, Master Harry. And I was nigh put in lock-up, I was. Was stopped by the watch, but I toppled un over, I did. I'm a man o' peace."
"If you are let alone," said Harry, laughing. "I feared some harm had happened to you. Our Dutch friend tells me London is an ill place at night for a stranger."
"Ay, and by day too, Master Harry," rejoined Sherebiah earnestly. "If I med make so bold, I'd say, get 'ee to-morrow a good cane,—none of your little small amber-tipt fancies as fine gentlemen swing in their dainty fingers, but a stout length of oak or birch, fit to crack a pate."
"I have a sword, Sherry, and can use it, thanks to you."
"Ay, but 'tis not always easy to draw a sword in time in a street brawl, and there be light-fingered gentry as can coax a sword from the scabbard and the wearer none the wiser till it be too late. Be it your poor feyther's sword you ha' brought, sir?"
"Yes, the silver-hilted one; I showed it you once, Sherry."
"Well, 'tis right for a gentleman to wear a sword, though I marvel, I do, at a holy man o' peace like pa'son haven such a deadly piece o' furniture."
"Ay, and I've often wondered how a man of peace like yourself is able to handle a sword so well. You made a swordsman of me, Sherry; how did you become one yourself?"
"Ah, sir, 'tis a many things a man o' peace has to know in the way o' dressens. I believe in peace with a cudgel in your hand. Them as wants peace be most like to get it an they be ready for war."