The Fortunes of Nigel by Walter Scott (good summer reads txt) 📕

“Well, and what said the auld watch-maker?” said Richie; “was he not, as might weel beseem him, ready to loop out of his skin-case for very joy?”

“He multiplied six figures progressively, and reported the product—then gave his consent.”

“And what did you do?”

“I rushed into the streets,” said the poor lad, “with a burning heart and a blood-shot eye—and where did I first find myself, but with that beldam, Mother Suddlechop—and what did she propose to me, but to take the road?”

“Take the road, man? in what sense?” said Richie.

“Even as a clerk to Saint Nicholas—as a highwayman, like Poins and Peto, and the good fellows in the play—and who think you was to be my captain?—for she had the whole out ere I could speak to her—I fancy she took silence for consent, and thought me damned too unutterably to have one thought left that savoured of redemption—who was to be my captain, but the knave that you saw me cudgel at the ordinary when you waited on Lord Glenvarloch, a cowardly, sharking, thievish bully about town here, whom they call Colepepper.”

“Colepepper—umph—I know somewhat of that smaik,” said Richie; “ken ye by ony chance where he may be heard of, Master Jenkin?—ye wad do me a sincere service to tell me.”

“Why, he lives something obscurely,” answered the apprentice, “on account of suspicion of some villainy—I believe that horrid murder in Whitefriars, or some such matter. But I might have heard all about him from Dame Suddlechop, for she spoke of my meeting him at Enfield Chase, with some other good fellows, to do a robbery on one that goes northward with a store of treasure.”

“And you did not agree to this fine project?” said Moniplies.

“I cursed her for a hag, and came away about my business,” answered Jenkin.

“Ay, and what said she to that, man? That would startle her,” said Richie.

“Not a whit. She laughed, and said she was in jest,” answered Jenkin; “but I know the she-devil's jest from her earnest too well to be taken in that way. But she knows I would never betray her.'

“Betray her! No,” replied Richie; “but are ye in any shape bound to this birkie Peppercull, or Colepepper, or whatever they call him, that ye suld let him do a robbery on the honest gentleman that is travelling to the north, and may be a kindly Scot, for what we know?”

“Ay—going home with a load of English money,” said Jenkin. “But be he who he will, they may rob the whole world an they list, for I am robbed and ruined.”

Richie filled his friend's cup up to the brim, and insisted that he should drink what he called “clean caup out.” “This love,” he said, “is but a bairnly matter for a brisk young fellow like yourself, Master Jenkin. And if ye must needs have a whimsy, though I think it would be safer to venture on a staid womanly body, why, here be as bonny lasses in London as this Peg-a-Ramsay. You need not sigh sae deeply, for it is very true—there is as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. Now wherefore should you, who are as brisk and trig a young fellow of your inches as the sun needs to shine on—wherefore need you sit moping this way, and not try some bold way to better your fortune?”

“I tell you, Master Moniplies,” said Jenkin, “I am as poor as any Scot among you—I have broke my indenture, and I think of running my country.”

“A-well-a-day!” said Richie; “but that maunna be, man—I ken weel, by sad experience, that poortith takes away pith, and the man sits full still that has a rent in his breeks. [Footnote: This elegant speech was made by the Earl of Douglas, called Tineman after being wounded and made prisoner at the battle of Shrewsbury, where

“His well labouring sword Had three times slain the semblance of the king,”]

But courage, man; you have served me heretofore, and I will serve you now. If you will but bring me to speech of this same captain, it will be the best day's work you ever did.”

“I guess where you are, Master Richard—you would save your countryman's long purse,” said Jenkin. “I cannot see how that should advantage me, but I reck not if I should bear a hand. I hate that braggart, that bloody-minded, cowardly bully. If you can get me mounted I care not if I show you where the dame told me I should meet him—but you must stand to the risk, for though he is a coward himself, I know he will have more than one stout fellow with him.”

“We'll have a warrant, man,” said Richie, “and the hue and cry, to boot.”

“We will have no such thing,” said Jenkin, “if I am to go with you. I am not the lad to betray any one to the harmanbeck. You must do it by manhood if I am to go with you. I am sworn to cutter's law, and will sell no man's blood.”

“Aweel,” said Richie, “a wilful man must have his way; ye must think that I was born and bred where cracked crowns were plentier than whole ones. Besides, I have two noble friends here, Master Lowestoffe of the Temple, and his cousin Master Ringwood, that will blithely be of so gallant a party.”

“Lowestoffe and Ringwood!” said Jenkin; “they are both brave gallants—they will be sure company. Know you where they are to be found?”

“Ay, marry do I,” replied Richie. “They are fast at the cards and dice, till the sma' hours, I warrant them.”

“They are gentlemen of trust and honour,” said Jenkin, “and, if they advise it, I will try the adventure. Go, try if you can bring them hither, since you have so much to say with, them. We must not be seen abroad together.—I know not how it is, Master Moniplies,” continued he, as his countenance brightened up, and while, in his turn, he filled the cups, “but I feel my heart something lighter since I have thought of this matter.”

“Thus it is to have counsellors, Master Jenkin,” said Richie; “and truly I hope to hear you say that your heart is as light as a lavrock's, and that before you are many days aulder. Never smile and shake your head, but mind what I tell you—and bide here in the meanwhile, till I go to seek these gallants. I warrant you, cart-ropes would not hold them back from such a ploy as I shall propose to them.”