"You shall not, Mr. Alworth," whined Flippet, inwardly resolved that next time he had occasion to "correct" his charges, it should be with closed windows and stuffed keyholes. "You shall not! Oh! don't tell of me this once," he went on in an agony of entreaty, "and I'll—I'll stand on my head to do you a service."
"You'll serve me better," smiled Alworth, "by keeping it where it is, and giving your brains a chance of devising some means of bringing this young man before the king, without an instant's delay."
"I—I—" gasped Flippet. "Oh! yes, to be sure; only, you see—"
"Yes or no," said Alworth inflexibly.
"Anything to oblige you—" began the unfortunate lackey.
A friend not at court.
"Very good," nodded Alworth. "'Tis but a small enough favour. But for my own part, I have never so much as seen his majesty face to face; and should have to be beholden to some of my friends for introduction to him myself, though we are near enough neighbours, and have had some business together. But my name, sir," he went on, turning again to Lee, "is but plain Richard Alworth. To be heard of across the way yonder, over against the parish church, at the sign of the 'Silver Leopard.'"
"And my name," said Lawrence, "is Lee—Lawrence Lee."
"Of the Nether Hall Farm, by Hoddesdon?" cried Alworth, a sudden light dispelling all the little clouds of mystification in the keen eyes transfixing Lawrence.
"The same," nodded Lee, as he dismounted from his horse; "at your service."