ing, Master Dawe. But thirty pounds is thirty pounds.
You must make it less."

'And all the while the faults in my draft fair leaped out and hit me
between the eyes. At any cost, I thinks to myself, I must get it back
and re-draft it. He grunts at me impatiently, and a splendid thought
comes to me, which shall save me. By the same token, It was quite
honest.'

'They ain't always,' says Mr Springett. 'How did you get out of it?'

'By the truth. I says to Master Fur Cap, as I might to you here, I says,
"I'll tell you something, since you seem a knowledgeable man. Is the
SOVEREIGN to lie in Thames river all her days, or will she take the high
seas?"

'"Oh," he says quickly, "the King keeps no cats that don't catch mice.
She must sail the seas, Master Dawe. She'll be hired to merchants for
the trade. She'll be out in all shapes o' weathers. Does that make any
odds?"

'"Why, then," says I, "the first heavy sea she sticks her nose into'll
claw off half that scroll-work, and the next will finish it. If she's
meant for a pleasure-ship give me my draft again, and I'll porture you a
pretty, light piece of scroll-work, good cheap. If she's meant for the
open--sea, pitch the draft into the fire. She can never carry that
weight on her bows."

'He looks at me squintlings and plucks his under-lip.

'"Is this your honest, unswayed opinion?" he says.

'"Body o' me! Ask about!" I says. "Any seaman could tell you 'tis
true. I'm advising you against my own profit, but why I do so is my own
concern."

'"Not altogether ", he says. "It's some of mine. You've saved me thirty
pounds, Master Dawe, and you've given me good arguments to use against
a willful woman that wants my fine new ship for her own toy. We'll not
have any scroll-work." His face shined with pure joy.

'"Then see that the thirty pounds you've saved on it are honestly paid
the King," I says, "and keep clear o' women-folk." I gathered up my
draft and crumpled it under my arm. "If that's all you need of me I'll
be gone," I says. "I'm pressed."

'He turns him round and fumbles in a corner. "Too pressed to be made
a knight, Sir Harry?" he says, and comes at me smiling, with
three-quarters of a rusty sword.

'I pledge you my Mark I never guessed it was the King till that moment.
I kneeled, and he tapped me on the shoulder.

'"Rise up, Sir Harry Dawe," he says, and, in the same breath, "I'm
pressed, too," and slips through the tapestries, leaving me like a stuck
calf