“I will wait upon your honour,” said the Scot, bowing very low; “that is, if my honourable master will permit me.”
“Thy master?” said George,—“Hast thou any other master save Want, whose livery you say you wear?”
“Troth, in one sense, if it please your honour, I serve twa masters,” said Richie; “for both my master and me are slaves to that same beldam, whom we thought to show our heels to by coming off from Scotland. So that you see, sir, I hold in a sort of black ward tenure, as we call it in our country, being the servant of a servant.”
“And what is your master's name?” said Master George; and observing that Richie hesitated, he added, “Nay, do not tell me, if it is a secret.”
“A secret that there is little use in keeping,” said Richie; “only ye ken that our northern stomachs are ower proud to call in witnesses to our distress. No that my master is in mair than present pinch, sir,” he added, looking towards the two English apprentices, “having a large sum in the Royal Treasury—that is,” he continued, in a whisper to Master George,—“the king is owing him a lot of siller; but it's ill getting at it, it's like.—My master is the young Lord Glenvarloch.”
Master George testified surprise at the name.—“You one of the young Lord Glenvarloch's followers, and in such a condition?”
“Troth, and I am all the followers he has, for the present that is; and blithe wad I be if he were muckle better aff than I am, though I were to bide as I am.”
“I have seen his father with four gentlemen and ten lackeys at his heels,” said Master George, “rustling in their laces and velvets. Well, this is a changeful world, but there is a better beyond it.—The good old house of Glenvarloch, that stood by king and country five hundred years!”
“Your honour may say a thousand,” said the follower.
“I will say what I know to be true, friend,” said the citizen, “and not a word more.—You seem well recovered now—can you walk?”