“Pray God it bring not another fit of his complaint!” says Barbara. “’A suffered a terrible twinge after you was gone out, Master Dick.”
“’Twill be more likely to make him forget it,” I answers, going towards the door which led into the great hall. But before I could lay hands on the latch, there came a great stamping of feet in the porch outside and a loud voice calling for a groom. The lads tumbled out, with Jasper in their rear, and presently there came blustering in a great man of loud voice, demanding Sir Nicholas, and protesting that the night was not fit for a dog to be out in. He caught sight of me and stared, and came stamping across the kitchen with a wet hand outstretched.
“That should be young Dick,” says he. “’Tis a long time since I saw thee, youngster—wast then a lad the height o’ my knee. Art grown a man now, and hast sinews of thy own, I warrant me.”
“’Tis Sir Jarvis Cutler,” whispered Gregory, as I took the man’s hand.
“Thou art right, old cock!” says Sir Jarvis. “Gad! I like the look of thy nose and of the bottle thou carriest. And how does my old friend Sir Nicholas, young Dick—well and hearty, I hope—for there’s need of him now, i’faith.”
“I fear that need must still be needy, then, sir,” says I. “My uncle suffers much at present, and stirs only from his couch to his chair.”
“’Sdeath!” says he. “’Tis bad news, that—but, what, he will find a substitute in thee, I doubt not. Hark thee, Dick, I have ridden hither from Stainborough, and my horse, poor beast, ’tis hard put to it—we will not to Pomfret to-night—there’s no hurry—see to it that my horse is cared for—Sir Nicholas, I am sure, will grudge neither it nor me a night’s lodging. And help me to some dry gear, lad, that I may go in and see thy uncle—’od’s body, as bad a night as ever I was out in!”
So I sent Gregory to tell Sir Nicholas of Sir Jarvis Cutler’s arrival and to prepare food and drink, and I had Sir Jarvis to my own chamber in order to provide him with dry clothes.
“We are much of a build, thou and I,” says he. “Faith, thou hast grown mightily o’ late, lad. But thou art more for books than swords, eh, Dick? Why, so Sir Nicholas gave me to understand, but in these times there’ll be more sword-work than book-work, boy—aye, marry!”