“I do ave von leetil praisaint of vine for you, sare,” said the skipper, boldly addressing the scarlet-visaged captain of the guard. “Dis leetil cask for your own taste.—De richest vine in de varld.”
“Thou art an especial good fellow, sir,” replied the captain, clumsily returning the exquisite bow which the Frenchman had made him, whilst, at the same time, he eyed the runlet, and immediately consigned it to the particular care of one of his own people. “Nothing could possibly come more opportunely, and I am most grateful for thy courtesy. It must be confessed that you Frenchmen are the most perfect gentlemen in the world, and know how to do a thing genteelly.”
“Ah, sare, dat is too mosh compliment for me as van Frainchman,” replied the skipper, with a smile and a bow yet lower than his former one. “And de compliment is more bettaire dat she come from van so grait hero as de Capitaine Strang! Admirasion for de fame of him, did make me ave de grait desire to honnaire myself wid praisant him vid dis leetil gift, for vitch liberty I do hope he is not offend.”
“Offended, my dear fellow!” cried Captain Strang; “thy runlet comes to me as welcome as the very flowers in May! But how the pest dost thou chance to know my name, Sir Skipper?”
“De name and de fame of de grat hero, is alvaise know by all men all over de varld,” replied the skipper, with another most obsequious reverence.
“By St. Andrew, but this is a curious marvel though,” said the captain. “Who would have thought that my name could have been known in France as a hero! Yet certain it is that I have done some small deeds in my time, that these French mooshies may have heard of.”
“Deeds, Monsieur le Capitaine!” cried De Tremouille, with feigned astonishment; “Vondaires in battaile! meeracailes in de feelde! van Achille of Scotlande! But all dat is nossing at all compare to de fame of Monsieur le Capitaine for his vonderful taste for de good vine! Ven dey do talk of good vine in France, dey do alvaise say—Aha! dis is vine fit for de pallait of van Empereur; bot dis ’ere is more bettaire, dis is fit for de pallait of de famous Scottish hero, de Capitaine Strang, dat do know good vine more bettaire dan any oder man in de varld.”
“By all the saints, that is wonderful!” said the captain; “and yet that I can more easily understand. Yes, yes; few people can match me there. And then, to be sure, these wine-dealers in France must know some little of those who are judges of the good stuff, and who, moreover, like myself, do so much to encourage their trade. But hark ye, Mr. Skipper! what do ye with those other two casks which those fellows of thine are carrying?”
“Ah hah! dat is von praisant pour de Duc d’Albanie,” replied the skipper.
“Ha!” cried the captain of the guard, with a certain air of suspicion; “the Duke of Albany, saidst thou? How comest thou to have a present for the Duke of Albany?”