James Cooper shook his head. "I don't like snuff, sir. I'd rather smoke a pipe."
Captain Kent took snuff and flicked the grains from his coat with his handkerchief. "Tut, tut, young man, if you're to be a man of fashion, and I misdoubt your father's son could be ought else, you must like what the fashion likes. The gentlemen of St. James' Palace still take snuff, and never are seen smoking pipes, like some of our clumsy Dutchmen over here."
"But St. James' Palace is in London, and we're free from England now."
"Quite so, my good sir. But our fashions still come from across the seas."
"And what is a man of fashion?" asked the boy.
Captain Kent smiled. "Ah, so you are concerned? Good! Well, I am a man of fashion, and so are those two friends of mine who just entered your hall. A man of fashion has a discriminating taste in wines and foods. He knows what colors go in harmony, how to draw his sword in any matter of honor, how to tread a minuet—oh, yes, and how to write verses to his lady's eyes."
The Captain put his hand in the pocket of his coat and drew out several folded sheets of paper. He spread them out on his knee. "Do you know Miss Betty Cosgrove?" he asked.
The boy nodded. "Yes, indeed. She lives very near us, and always gives me plum-cake when I go there with messages from mother."
"Ah, she does!" exclaimed Kent, as though greatly struck and charmed by the idea. "Well, Mr. James Cooper, I have written some verses in her honor, hoping I might offer them to her here this afternoon. I'll read them to you."
"She's indoors," said the boy. "I saw her come."