Fanshawe shrugged. "By the way," he said, "Mr. Berkeley is in town—to pay his court to someone, I swear. 'Tis said he is buying a commission for that cub his son; pray Heaven it be not in my regiment! That's the way o' the world again. Here's Piers Berkeley, the young popinjay, all grins and frippery, like to carry the Queen's colours in a fine regiment because his father has a long purse, and you, a deal more fit for it, kicking your heels for want of a rich father or a richer patron. I fear 'tis all up with your chances now; but I wish you luck. I go to Flanders in a week; home to-morrow to say good-bye; who knows when we may meet again!"
The two friends bade each other a cordial farewell; then Harry returned sadly to his lodging. Some two hours later Sherebiah came back.
"What do 'ee think, Master Harry?" he said. "I ha' seed old Squire."
"I knew he was in town," replied Harry. "And what do you think I've seen, Sherry?"
Detecting a something strange in his tone, Sherebiah gave him a hard look.
"I never was no good at guessen," he said. "Mebbe the German giant at Hercules' Pillars, or the liven fairy in Bridges Street."
"No, 'twas no giant and no fairy, but a short man—about your height, Sherry—with a round face—just as round as yours—and a solemn look—like yours at whiles; and what think you he was doing? He was dancing on his knees, with a crowd of numskulls round him grinning at his capers, and——"
"There now, 'twas sure to be found out, I knowed it. 'Twas me—I don't deny it, 'cos bean't no good."
"Now I know why you wanted to keep the purse, you old dissembler. You eke out my little store with the pence your antics fetch. Sherry, I love thee; I do indeed. But how did you learn those fantastic tricks with your knees?"
"Oh, I ha' done a bit o' tumblen in my time; ay sure."