“Does my nephew go with you, so please you?” said Gosling.
“Ay, such is his purpose,” answered Richard Varney.
“You are right—fully right,” replied mine host—“you are, I say, fully right, my kinsman. Thou hast got a gay horse; see thou light not unaware upon a halter—or, if thou wilt needs be made immortal by means of a rope, which thy purpose of following this gentleman renders not unlikely, I charge thee to find a gallows as far from Cumnor as thou conveniently mayest. And so I commend you to your saddle.”
The master of the horse and his new retainer mounted accordingly, leaving the landlord to conclude his ill-omened farewell, to himself and at leisure; and set off together at a rapid pace, which prevented conversation until the ascent of a steep sandy hill permitted them to resume it.
“You are contented, then,” said Varney to his companion, “to take court service?”
“Ay, worshipful sir, if you like my terms as well as I like yours.”
“And what are your terms?” demanded Varney.
“If I am to have a quick eye for my patron's interest, he must have a dull one towards my faults,” said Lambourne.
“Ay,” said Varney, “so they lie not so grossly open that he must needs break his shins over them.”
“Agreed,” said Lambourne. “Next, if I run down game, I must have the picking of the bones.”