"This extortionate old--"
"I'll not hear it!" I roared.
"In this fine faith," sneers he, "I find at least the gratifying
prospect of being some day privileged to observe Top broil as on a
griddle in hell."
'Twas most obscure.
"I refer," says he, "to the moment of grand climax when this pirate
tells you where your diamonds came from. Your diamonds?" he flashed.
"You may get quit of your diamonds; but the fine gentleman this low
villain has fashioned of a fishing-skipper's whelp will all your days
keep company at your elbow. And you won't love Top for this," says he,
with malevolent satisfaction; "you won't love Top!"
I walked to the window for relief from him. 'Twas all very well that
he should discredit and damn my uncle in this way; 'twas all very well
that he should raise spectres of unhappiness before me: but there, on
the opposite pavement, abroad in the foggy wind, jostled by
ill-tempered passengers, was this self-same old foster-father of mine,
industriously tap-tapping the pavement with his staff, as he had
periodically done, whatever the weather, since I could remember the
years of my life. I listened to the angry tapping, watched the urchins
and curious folk gather for the show; and I was moved to regard the
mystifying spectacle with an indulgent grin. The gray stranger,
however, at that instant got ear of the patter of the staff and the
clamor of derision. He cried upon me sharply to stand from the window;
but I misliked this harsh manner of authority, and would not budge:
whereupon he sprang upon me, caught me about the middle, and violently
flung me back. 'Twas too late to avert the catastrophe: my uncle had
observed me, and was even then bound across the street, flying all
sail, to the terrified confusion of the exalted political personage
whose career he menaced. 'Twas a pitiable spectacle of fright and
helpless uncertainty the man furnished, seeming at one moment bent on
keeping my uncle out, whom he feared to admit, at another to wish him
well in, whom he dared not exclude.
"The man's stark mad!" he would repeat, in his panic of gesture and
pacing. "The man's stark mad to risk this!"
My uncle softly closed the door behind him. "Ah, Dannie!" says he.
"You here?" He was breathless, and gone a ghastly color; there was
that about his scars and eyes, too, to make me wonder whether 'twas
rage or fear had mastered him: I could not tell, but mightily wished
to determine, since it seemed that some encounter impended. "Ye're an
unkind man," says he, in a passionless way, to the gray stranger, who
was now once more seated at his desk, fingering the litter of
documents. "Ye've broke your word t' me. I must punish ye for the evil
ye've done this lad. I'll not ask ye what ye've told un till I haves
my way with ye; but then," he declared, his voice betraying a tremor
of indignation, "I'll have the talk out o' ye, word for word!" The
gray stranger was agitated, but would not look up from his aimlessly
wandering hand to meet my uncle's lowering, reproachful eyes.
"Dannie," says my uncle, continuing in gentle speech, "pass the
cushion from the big chair. Thank 'e, lad. I'm not wantin' the man t'
hurt his head." He cast the cushion to the floor. "Now, sir," says
he, gently, "an ye'll be good enough t' step within five-foot-ten o'
that there red cushion, I'll knock ye down an' have it over with."
The man looked sullenly out of the window.
"Five-foot-ten, sir," my uncle repeated, with some cheerfulness.
"Top," was the vicious response, "you invite assassination."
My uncle put his hand on my shoulder. "'Tis not fit for ye t' see,
lad," says he. "Ye'd best be off t' the fresh air. 'Tis so wonderful
stuffy here that ye'll be growin' pale an ye don't look out. An' I'm
not wantin' ye t' see me knock a man down," he repeated, with feeling.
"I'm not wantin' ye even t' _think_ that I'd do an unkind thing like
that."