Radisson must give
Godefroy the wink, who knocks both their hats off at once, explaining
that a landsman can ill keep his legs on the sea, and the sea is no
respecter of persons. Once, at the end of his byplay between the two
young fire-eaters, the sea lurched in earnest, a mighty pitch that
threw tipstaff sprawling across the table. And the beer went full in
the face of the marquis.
"There's a health to you, Foret!" roared the merchant in whirlwinds of
laughter.
But the marquis had gone heels over head. He gained his feet as the
ship righted, whipped out his rapier, vowed he would dust somebody's
jacket, and caught up Godefroy on the tip of his sword by the rascal's
belt.
"Foret, I protest," cried M. Radisson, scarce speaking for laughter, "I
protest there's nothing spilt but the beer and the dignity! The beer
can be mopped. There's plenty o' dignity in the same barrel. Save
Godefroy! We can ill spare a man!"
With a quick rip of his own rapier, Radisson had cut Godefroy's belt
and the wretch scuttled up-stairs out of reach. Sailors wiped up the
beer, and all hands braced chairs 'twixt table and wall to await M.
Radisson's pleasure.
He had dressed with unusual care. Gold braid edged his black doublet,
and fine old Mechlin came back over his sleeves in deep ruffs.
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