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Think so with all your heart, good Cuthbert." "Well, end as it may, you will at least ken who and what you are, wed or unwed, fish, flesh or good red herring, and cease to live nameless, like the Poticary's serving-woman," concluded Ridley as his parting grumble.
"'We fights with real powder and ball, the flatfoots fights with bird-shot. We knows the perry-ferry of the circumference of a round shot. Did you ever see a mortar? Did you ever see a shell? I will answer for it you never did, except the poticary's mortar, and the shell that mortar so often renders necessary.
Then you may aid me in chaffering, and I will straight to the Fleming, with whom I may do better than with Hodge of the Lamb. How now, here's a shower coming up fast!" It was so indeed; a heavy cloud had risen quickly, and was already bursting overhead. "In good time!" cried Ridley; "here's the Poticary's sign! You had best halt here at once."