See, your Majesty; we are two old men, but active; battered somewhat, but not ignorant; worn, but not worn out.

We are at your service: take us, use us as you will.

We will serve you faithfully, loyally, without question, until we die or your enemies break us.

Only restore our son, Tristram Salt." "Gentlemen, I will not say but that I am gratified by this--" William paused, saw the hope spring into their eyes, and added, with assumed coldness--"only it happens that you come too late." The two honest faces fell.
"Too-late ?" Captain Barker stammered, staring stupidly at the King.
"Is my boy--dead ?" The question came in a dull, sick tone, that softened their Sovereign's heart within him.
"Forgive me, gentlemen; I had no right to play thus with your feelings.

You have come too late only because I gave the young man his discharge more than two months ago, with a passport to take him back to England." "But he has not arrived!" "He started, at any rate; and in company with one who appeared to have the best right to take care of him--I mean his father, Captain Roderick Salt." Captain Barker groaned.
"May it please your Majesty," said Captain Jemmy, thrusting himself forward, "but Roderick Salt's the damn'dest villain in your service; and that's saying a good deal.