He held out his hand for all I had in the world. Yet this was a matter for grave reflection. Poor as I was, and humbled in my thoughts, I was still a Spanish gentleman; and expert as was this Englishman with the sword, and finely as he was found in wisdom, he was yet one of another nation, and scarcely to be esquired by a blood like mine. My condition was such that I could not give my service to one less in degree than a Spanish nobleman, or one who was at least a prince in his own country; and although this Englishman had moved about the courts of Europe and Asia Minor, and the blood of kings flowed under his doublet, it was yet a parlous thing for my father’s son, a veritable Sarda y Boegas, to attend him in a humble capacity. “Why, brother,” said Sir Richard Pendragon, “would you insult a generous nature with your reluctancy? Is not the suggestion a noble one? Is it not princely? Have I not peddled a great mind about Europe for thirty years in the mild pursuit of knowledge, and do I not place at your service the whole store of my politeness for the paltry sum of eight crowns? Yet was I ever immoderate in the love of worth. My young Spaniard, I have conceived a deep regard for your character. Besides, I am in need of a squire, and between you and me and the door, eight crowns will not come amiss.” So much fair and honourable speaking upon the part of the Englishman caused me to take most earnest thought. But at last, with a proper submission, for the offer was fine from a swordsman so notable, I felt I must deny him. “I thank you from the heart, sir, for such fair words, proceeding as they do from a man of learning and genius, but I fear I must seek my fortune alone. My condition renders it necessary that the person I serve be not less in degree than one of the Spanish nobility.” “By cock!” he cried, “is not a Pendragon worthy? Can you be unacquainted with the fact that a king’s blood flows under every doublet of that name?” “It is not the blood of a king of Spain, and therefore, good Englishman, though I like you well, I fear I cannot attend you.” I think my words must have worked on this mad fellow--since I have come to know the world better I have learned that all Englishmen are mad--for he put by his indignation, looked at me with immense solemnity, and teased his short chin beard. “So be it, my young companion. You are a man of birth, and in every country under the stars a chip of that quality must be allowed his maggot. Blood is blood wherever it flows, whether it is in Arabia sitting in a mosque without its shoes, or whether it is in England, drinking malmsey and eating walnuts with the Heir Apparent. I myself am of that condition, and therefore, good Spaniard, none is better acquainted with those immodest fancies that vex the minds of the nobly nurtured.”