“Your worship is too raw a soldier to know much of these same tickers and tappers. Let us rather to the library for volumes of divinity.”
This time the intention to affront was so patent, so patent, too, that Halfman’s temper was getting the better of whatever discretion he possessed, that Evander’s face hardened, and yet for his own reasons he still spoke mildly enough:
“There is no need to call me worship, for I can claim no such title. But I think I know something of these trinkets, and with your leave will examine them.”
He passed by Halfman as he spoke and entered the room, where he immediately busied himself in the examination of some of the weapons displayed there, and apparently ignoring Halfman’s existence. Halfman watched him with a scowl for a moment and then followed him into the room.
“Your honor,” he said—“since you will not be called worship—your honor really has a use for these toys of gentlefolk?”
Evander had taken a handsome Italian rapier from its case against the wall, and, after glancing at its blade, was weighing and testing the weapon in the air. As he gave Halfman no answer, the latter took up the talk again, provocatively:
“I cannot deny that your honor showed fight briskly enough yester evening, but then it seemed little less than fight or die, and even a rat, if you corner him, will snap for dear life. Moreover, you were well ambushed, and there was a gentle lady present who would not see a rat butchered unnecessarily.”
Evander, still weighing the fine Italian blade, turned to Halfman and addressed him with an exasperating composure.
“Friend,” he said, “I have told you that I am not unacquainted with arms. When I am a free man I enforce belief in my word. As it is—”