My lord appeared in earnest.
“Pshaw! Quarrel with? Why, the thing is about ten years out of date. Unpardonable! Give it up, Jack; I’ll not countenance you in such a pudding-cloth.”
John Gore broke into a hearty, seafaring laugh.
“Sancta Maria! is the offence so flagrant?”
“You might as well go to the King’s levee with a dirty face, sir. Don’t guffaw; I’m in earnest. Richards has orders to get rid of all the husks.”
The sea-captain fingered the gold tags.
“Being a prodigal, I will put up with such husks as these. I suppose I may be preferred before Tom Richards?”
My lord took the cloak from him casually, as though he had not noticed the gold chains with their knots of pearls.
“Hallo! these are worth saving, after all. I’ll keep them myself, Jack. Give a thing, and take it back again. That is philosophy of a sort, according to Hobbs.”
He laughed, pulled out a silver-handled clasp-knife from a pocket, and cut the gold curbs away from the cloth.