‘I am discussing the making of your lordship’s road,’ says Paris, ‘of which you did me the honour to speak overnight.’
His master gave him a clout on the head, which knocked him sideways to the floor. ‘You soiled cut-purse!’ he roared at him, ‘you famous pirate, you jack-for-the-string, what are you about? Do you think you are at sea, that you can talk bloody designs to the open sky? Do you think us all thieves on a galley, and the redding of a realm as easy as to club the warder of a bench? Astounding fool! with your blustering and botching, you’ll bring me to a wooden bolster one of these days.’ He leaped from his bed, and put his foot on the man’s neck. ‘If I don’t make you swallow your infamous tally, call me a dunce!’
Paris lay still, pale but serious. ‘It is difficult to discuss matters of moment in this posture,’ he said; ‘but I can assure your lordship that I have given a great deal of thought to your business.’
‘And who under Heaven asked you for thought?’ cried his master. ‘Or who in Heaven gave you the wit for it? Get up, you monkey-man, and fetch me my clothes. We don’t go to work that way in Scotland.’
‘I am conscious of it, master,’ said Paris, ‘and pity it is. There is a saying in Italy, which dates from a very old case of our kind, Cosa fatta capo ha: a thing done, say they, is done with. Now here, a thing is so long a-contriving that it is in danger of not being done at all. Love of Heaven, sir! for what would you wait? What can your lordship want beside the bounden gratitude of the Qu——.’ He stopped, because the Earl struck him on the mouth with the back of his hand.
‘No names, you damned parrot!’
Paris, ashamed of himself, wiped his lips. ‘I admit the indiscretion, my lord, and regret it. But my question was pertinent.’
‘It was cursed nonsense,’ said the Earl, ‘and as impertinent as yourself. Suppose I took this road of yours—what would old Sourface be about? Where would his prim eyes be? Looking through his fingers—seeing and not seeing—for sure! Why, you toss-pot, we must have him roped and gagged, or he’ll have us roped, I can tell you—and as high as Haman. Bah! you make me ashamed that ever I held words with such a gull. Peace now, mind your business, and get me my drink. I am going abroad—then to the Council.’
The first person of consequence he accosted that day was the Lord of Lethington. The Secretary went in desperate fear of him, as you could have told by the start he gave when he felt the heavy hand clap his shoulder.