Jermyn, the Papist."

"The Papist, eh?" cried Mr. Rumbald.

"I would work for the Devil," said I, "if he would pay me enough."

The words appeared to Mr. Rumbald very witty, though God knows why: I
suppose it was the ale in him: for he laughed aloud and beat on his leg.

"I'll be bound you would," he said.

And it was these words of mine which (under God's Providence, as I think
now) established my reputation with Mr. Rumbald as a dare-devil kind of
fellow that would do anything for money. He began, too, at that (which
pleased me better at the time), to speak of precisely those matters of
which I wished to hear. It was not treasonable talk, for the ale had not
driven all the sense out of him; but it was as near treasonable as might
be; and it was above all against the Catholics that he raged. I would
not defile this page by writing down all that he said; but neither Her
Majesty nor the Duke of York escaped his venom; there appeared nothing
too bad to be said of them; and he spoke of other names, too, of the
Duchess of Portsmouth whom he called by vile names (yet not viler than
she had rightfully earned) and the Duchess of Cleveland; and he began
upon the King, but stopped himself.

"But you are a Church of England man?" he said. "Well, so am I now, at
least I call myself so, though I should be a Presbyterian; but--" And he
stopped again.

Now all this was mighty interesting to me; for it was worse than