“I will not trust you, though,” replied Heriot.—“Hear you, Jenkin boy, tell Scots Janet to tell pretty Mistress Margaret, my god-child, she must put her father in remembrance to put on his best doublet to-morrow, and to bring him to Lombard Street at noon. Tell her they are to meet a brave young Scots lord.”
Jenkin coughed that sort of dry short cough uttered by those who are either charged with errands which they do not like, or hear opinions to which they must not enter a dissent.
“Umph!” repeated Master George—who, as we have already noticed, was something of a martinet in domestic discipline—“what does umph mean? Will you do mine errand or not, sirrah?”
“Sure, Master George Heriot,” said the apprentice, touching his cap, “I only meant, that Mistress Margaret was not likely to forget such an invitation.”
“Why, no,” said Master George; “she is a dutiful girl to her god-father, though I sometimes call her a jill-flirt.—And, hark ye, Jenkin, you and your comrade had best come with your clubs, to see your master and her safely home; but first shut shop, and loose the bull-dog, and let the porter stay in the fore-shop till your return. I will send two of my knaves with you; for I hear these wild youngsters of the Temple are broken out worse and lighter than ever.”
“We can keep their steel in order with good handbats,” said Jenkin; “and never trouble your servants for the matter.”
“Or, if need be,” said Tunstall, “we have swords as well as the Templars.”
“Fie upon it—fie upon it, young man,” said the citizen;—“An apprentice with a sword!—Marry, heaven forefend! I would as soon see him in a hat and feather.”
“Well, sir,” said Jenkin—“we will find arms fitting to our station, and will defend our master and his daughter, if we should tear up the very stones of the pavement.”
“There spoke a London 'prentice bold,” said the citizen; “and, for your comfort, my lads, you shall crush a cup of wine to the health of the Fathers of the City. I have my eye on both of you—you are thriving lads, each in his own way.—God be wi' you, Davie. Forget not to-morrow at noon.” And, so saying, he again turned his mule's head westward, and crossed Temple Bar, at that slow and decent amble, which at once became his rank and civic importance, and put his pedestrian followers to no inconvenience to keep up with him.