Galloping Dick
Sir Ralph shrugged his shoulders. “As you will,” he said in another voice; and then to his men, “You had better lay in a stock of food for yourselves, and see you hold your prisoner fast,” he says.
When they were gone he turned to me smiling, and, “It seems,” says he, “that in the hopes of cutting out each other’s hearts we must first grow friends over wine.”
“Why not?” said I stoutly. “I love a gallant sword, and a passage-at-arms is a sure passage to friendship.”
“In this case ’tis the bottle,” he objected.
“Bottle or blade,” said I, “I will find some way to your heart, Sir Ralph.”
He inquired of me with his eyes for a moment with a sort of indifferent good-humour. “Let us drink, at least,” said he, “I’ll warrant we will both make friends with the wine.”
I regarded him closely as we drank. He put back his head and swallowed the liquor at a gulp, winked at me, and then, noting some tangle in his lace, slowly combed it out with his long white fingers. He was much taken
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