A Set of Rogues
CHAPTER I. _Of my companions and our adversities, and in particular from our getting into the stocks at Tottenham Cross to our being robbed at Edmonton._ There being no plays to be acted at the "Red Bull," because of the Plague, and the players all cast adrift for want of employment, certain of us, to wit, Jack Dawson and his daughter Moll, Ned Herring, and myself, clubbed our monies together to buy a store of dresses, painted cloths, and the like, with a cart and horse to carry them, and thus provided set forth to travel the country and turn an honest penny, in those parts where the terror of pestilence had not yet turned men's stomachs against the pleasures of life. And here, at our setting out, let me show what kind of company we were. First, then, for our master, Jack Dawson, who on no occasion was to be given a second place; he was a hale, jolly fellow, who would eat a pound of beef for his breakfast (when he could get it), and make nothing of half a gallon of ale therewith,--a very masterful man, but kindly withal, and pleasant to
inn-keeper. "I have never seen him, myself."
"Nor I," said Pere Leger. "But he must be intending to live there, or
why should he spend two hundred thousand francs in restoring the
chateau? It is as fine now as the King's own palace."
"Well, well," said the inn-keeper, "it was high time for Moreau to
feather his nest."
"Yes, for if the masters come there," replied Leger, "they won't keep
their eyes in their pockets."
The count lost not a word of this conversation, which was held in a
low voice, but not in a whisper.
"Here I have actually found the proofs I was going down there to
seek," he thought, looking at the fat farmer as he entered the
kitchen. "But perhaps," he added, "it is only a scheme; Moreau may not
have listened to it."
So unwilling was he to believe that his steward could lend himself to
such a conspiracy.
Pierrotin here came out to water his horses. The count, thinking that
the driver would probably breakfast with the farmer and the
inn-keeper, feared some thoughtless indiscretion.
CHAPTER I. _Of my companions and our adversities, and in particular from our getting into the stocks at Tottenham Cross to our being robbed at Edmonton._ There being no plays to be acted at the "Red Bull," because of the Plague, and the players all cast adrift for want of employment, certain of us, to wit, Jack Dawson and his daughter Moll, Ned Herring, and myself, clubbed our monies together to buy a store of dresses, painted cloths, and the like, with a cart and horse to carry them, and thus provided set forth to travel the country and turn an honest penny, in those parts where the terror of pestilence had not yet turned men's stomachs against the pleasures of life. And here, at our setting out, let me show what kind of company we were. First, then, for our master, Jack Dawson, who on no occasion was to be given a second place; he was a hale, jolly fellow, who would eat a pound of beef for his breakfast (when he could get it), and make nothing of half a gallon of ale therewith,--a very masterful man, but kindly withal, and pleasant to