Galloping Dick
James, but I am a good servant of his, and the King is the King, and there’s an end. While, as for his Grace of Monmouth, Mr Ryder, he is a fool who should think one should be born a bastard and begotten a king.”
“You speak my own sentiments,” said I.
He rose now, and sweeping off his hat, with his heels together, “Mr Ryder,” he said mockingly, but with no shadow of offence in his voice, “God or the Devil imposes an end to pleasant company, and we must now part—I to my service and you to your ease.”
“Until we meet,” I put in, and returning his bow with as much magnificence as himself.
“Ah!” he replied, “I have an uncommon bad memory. But you must jog it, Ryder, you must jog it.”
I accompanied him from the inn, and when we were got into the open, there was all his little company scattered under the huge elm before the doorway, and the man Baverstock set somewhat apart in the charge of two dragoons, looking very black and disconsolate.
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