he rejoined haughtily.

“And your sword knot is villainously tied,” I continued. “And I like not such a fire-new, bejeweled scabbard. Mine, you see, is out at heel.”

“I see,” he said dryly.

“The pinking of your doublet suits me not, either,” I declared. “I could make it more to my liking,” and I touched his Genoa three-pile with the point of my rapier.

A loud murmur arose from the crowd, and the Governor started forward, crying out, “Captain Percy! Are you mad?”

“I was never saner in my life, sir,” I answered. “French fashions like me not, — that is all, — nor Englishmen that wear them. To my thinking such are scarcely true-born.”