“So pleases you, my lady,” Halfman said, “our troop is swelling fast, and the sooner we clap them into colored coats the better.”
Brilliana’s curls danced in denial.
“Alas! friend, I have sad news for you. Of cloth for coats I can indeed command a great plenty”—she paused doubtfully.
“Why this is glad news, not sad news,” Halfman said. “So may you serve it out with all despatch.”
Brilliana dropped her hands to her sides and her lids over her eyes, a pretty picture of despair; but, “Alas! ’tis all white,” she confessed—“wool white, snow white, ermine white. You must needs have patience, good recruiting-sergeant, till I can have it dyed the royal red.”
Halfman pushed patience from him with outspread palms.
“Shall the King lack hands for lack of madder?” he questioned, with humorous indignation. “Not so, I pray you; let us cut our coats from your white cloth. I promise you we will dye it ourselves red enough in the blood of the enemy.” Brilliana sprang to her feet rejoicing.
“Bravely said; so shall it be bravely done. I will give orders at once for the cutting and sewing. I will back our white coats against Master Hampden’s green coats, or Essex’s swarm in orange-tawny. Have you conveyed my message to my two miserly neighbors?”
“I sent Clupp to Master Hungerford,” Halfman answered, “and Garlinge to Master Rainham, bidding them to your presence peremptory. But I warn you, my lady, from all I hear, that if you hope to raise coin for the King’s cause from either of the skinflints you will be sadly at a loss.”