"By Hercules and Vulcan," he cried, when at last I had set the landlord down, "what an arm and back the lad has! He must have the best in the house, Goble, and sup with me."
Goble pulled himself together.
"And he is your honour's friend," he began, with a scowl.
"Ay, he is my friend, I tell you," retorted the important personage, impatiently.
The innkeeper, sulky, half-satisfied, yet fearing to offend, welcomed us with what grace he could muster, and we were shown to "The Fox and the Grapes," a large room in the rear of the house.
John Paul had not spoken since the slim gentleman had drawn the distinction between us, and I knew that the affront was rankling in his breast. He cast himself into a chair with such an air of dejection as made me pity him from my heart. But I had no consolation to offer. His first words, far from being the torrent of protest I looked for, almost startled me into laughter.
"He can be nothing less than a duke," said the captain. "Ah, Richard, see what it is to be a gentleman!"
"Fiddlesticks! I had rather own your powers than the best title in
England," I retorted sharply.
He shook his head sorrowfully, which made me wonder the more that a man of his ability should be unhappy without this one bauble attainment.
"I shall begin to believe the philosophers have the right of it," he remarked presently. "Have you ever read anything of Monsieur Rousseau's, Richard?"