“I can show you goods there is little call for, and if you are satisfied with them you take them at your own price and risk.”
He closed the door and brought out from their concealment rich garments of the Cavalier fashion, which he handled gingerly, as if afraid of them.
“Ah, that’s more like. Now I shall set myself out from top to toe in something suitable for riding. My horse and I are two sections of the same thing.”
In the privacy of the back room the change was effected, and presently William Armstrong stood as gay and comely a man as could be found in all England, superbly attired, with filmy lace fluttering at neck and wrists. The mercer hovered before him, rubbing one hand over the other, with an artist’s appreciation of the result his efforts had produced, and indeed something more glimmering behind in the depths of his appraising eye.
“You will make many a heart beat faster if you pass through the streets of York in that fashion,” said the mercer.
“I doubt it. I was never one to be popular with the lasses.”
“I was not thinking of women, sir, but of men who have fought and lost.”
“Oh, all’s not lost because York is taken! There will be a King in England for many a day yet, never you fear.”
The mercer cast a timorous glance about him, then suddenly thrust forth his hand.
“You are a brave man. God make your prophecy true. I thought you came in to change your coat with the times, like the rest of us.”