I laughed aloud.

“And what if I tell you that I made friends with his Grace of Grafton, and Lord Sandwich, and was invited to Hichinbroke, his Lordship’s seat?” said I.

His honest face was a picture of consternation.

“Now the good Lord deliver us!” he exclaimed fervently.  “Sandwich!  Grafton!  The devil!”

I gave myself over to the first real merriment I had had since I had heard of Mr. Carvel’s death.

“And when Mr. Fox learned that I had lost my fortune,” I went on, “he offered me a position under Government.”

“Have you not friends enough at home to care for you, sir?” he said, his face getting purple.  “Are you Jack Carvel’s son, or are you an impostor?”

“I am Jack Carvel’s son, dear Captain Daniel, and that is why I am here,” I replied.  “I am a stouter Whig than ever, and I believe I might have converted Mr. Fox himself had I remained at home sufficiently long,” I added, with a solemn face.  And, for my own edification, I related how I had bearded his Majesty’s friends at Brooks’s, whereat he gave a great, joyful laugh, and thumped me on the back.

“You dog, Richard!  You sly rogue!” And he called to Mr. Claude for another bottle on the strength of that, and we pledged the Association.  He peppered me with questions concerning Junius, and Mr. Wilkes, and Mr. Franklin of Philadelphia.  Had I seen him in London?  “I would not doubt a Carvel’s word,” says the captain, “(always excepting Grafton and his line, as usual), but you may duck me on the stool and I comprehend why Mr. Fox and his friends took up with such a young rebel rapscallion as you—­and after the speech you made ’em.”

I astonished him vastly by pointing out that Mr. Fox and his friends cared a deal for place, and not a fig for principle; that my frankness had entertained rather than offended them; and that, having a taste for a bit of wild life and the money to gratify it, and being of a tolerant, easy nature withal, I had contrived to make many friends in that set, without aiming at influence.  Whereat he gave me another lick between the shoulders.

“It was so with Jack,” he cried; “thou art a replica.  He would have made friends with the devil himself.  In the French war, when all the rest of us Royal Americans were squabbling with his Majesty’s officers out of England, and cursing them at mess, they could never be got to fight with Jack, tho’ he gave them ample provocation.  There was Tetherington, of the 22d foot,—­who jeered us for damned provincials, and swaggered through three duels in a week,—­would enter no quarrel with him.  I can hear him say:  ’Damn you, Carvel, you may slap my face and you will, or walk in ahead of me at the general’s dinner and you will, but I like you too well to draw at you.  I would not miss your company at table for all the world.’  And when he was killed,” Captain Daniel continued, lowering his voice, “some of them cried like women, Tetherington among ’em,—­and swore they would rather have lost their commissions at high play.”