"Richard Cocklescraft," said the Collector, "I know not if you ever saw Albert Verheyden. Had he come hither before you sailed? His Lordship's secretary." "I was not so lucky as to fall into his company," replied Cocklescraft, turning towards the Secretary, and eyeing him from head to foot. "I think I heard that his Lordship brought new comers with him. We shall not lack acquaintance. Your hand, Master Verdun--I think so you said?" he added, as he looked inquiringly at the Collector. The Collector again pronounced the name of the Secretary with more precision. "Nearly the same thing," continued the Skipper. "Master Verheyden, your hand: mine is something rougher, but it shall be the hand of a comrade, if thine be in the service of worshipful Master Anthony Warden, the good Collector of St. Mary's. I know how to value a friend, Master Secretary, and a friend's friend. You have a rare voice for a ballad--I pretend to have an opinion in such matters--an excellent voice and a free finger for the lute." "I am flattered by your liking sir," returned Albert Verheyden coldly, as he retired towards a window, somewhat repelled by the too freely proffered acquaintance of the Skipper, and the rather loud voice and obtrusive manner with which he addressed those around him. "Oh, this craft of singing is the touchstone of gentility now-a-days," said Cocklescraft, twirling his velvet bonnet by the gold tassel appended to the crown. "A man is accounted unfurnished who has no skill in that joyous art. Sea-bred as I am, Collector--worshipful Master Warden--you would scarce believe me, but I have touched lute and guitar myself, and passably well. I learned this trick in Milan, whither I have twice gone in my voyages, and dwelt there with these Italians, some good summer months. That is your climate for dark eyes and bright nights--balconies, and damsels behind the lattice, listening to thrummers and singers upon the pavements below. And upon occasion, we wear the short cloak and dagger. I have worn cloak and stiletto in my travels, Master Collector, and trolled a catch in the true tongue of Tuscany, when tuck and rapier rung in the burden. The hot blood there is a commodity which the breeze from the Alps hath no virtue to cool, as it doth in Switzerland."