The Laughing Cavalier · Chapter 8 (2/2)

“The play was short, O wise Pythagoras,” retorted Diogenes with imperturbable good humour, “the curtain has already come down upon the last act. I am once more a knave, a merchant ready to flatter the customer who will buy his wares: Hech there, sir, my lord! what are your needs? My sword, my skin, they are yours to command! so many guilders, sir, and I will kill your enemy for you, fight your battles, abduct the wench that pleases you. So many guilders! and when they are safely in my pocket I can throw my glove in your face lest you think I have further need of your patronage.”

“ ’Tis well to brag,” muttered Pythagoras, “but you’ll starve with cold this night.”

“But at dawn I’ll eat a hearty breakfast offered me by my friend Frans Hals for the privilege of painting my portrait.”

“Doth he really paint thy portrait, O handsome Diogenes?” said Pythagoras unctuously.

“Aye! thou ugly old toad. He has begun a new one, for which I have promised to sit. I’ll pay for the breakfast he gives me, by donning a gorgeous gold embroidered doublet which he once stole from somewhere, by putting my hand on my hip, tilting my hat at a becoming angle, and winking at him by the hour whilst he paints away.”

“Hm! after a night of wandering by the canal in the fog and snow and sharing the meagre breakfast of a half-starved painter, methinks the portrait will be that of a knight of the rueful countenance.”

“Indeed not, old compeer,” said Diogenes with a hearty laugh, “it shall be the portrait of a Laughing Cavalier.”