“One must pay for misbehaviour, sir,” says I.
“I am not sure,” says he, plucking at the bedclothes, “that I should not alter matters if there were a chance.”
“Pray you, sir,” says I, “don’t think of such a thing. I am very well provided for,” I says. And so I was, seeing that I was pretty sure to be either shot or hanged within the next few days.
“Well, well,” says he. “But things will turn out well. I wish thee to marry Alison, nephew Dick.”
“Sir!” says I.
“Swounds!” says he. “Thou art not already married?”
“No, dear sir,” says I.
“Then there is no need for astonishment,” says he. “And, egad, she is as proper a wench——”
“Sir,” says I. “She is the handsomest woman that ever I saw, but I fear she is beyond me. And besides,” I says, “I don’t think she likes me.”
“Pish!” says he. “Thou art but a lad, and therefore knowest naught of women. There is but one way of wooing, and that is to be masterful. Let ’em see that you’re master,” he says, with a chuckle that came very feeble, “and they’re won.”