"The people in that house have received letters from Joshua Marvel to-day."
"Well, what of that?"
"What of that!" cried the Lascar, in a voice of suppressed passion, and yet with a cunning watchfulness of Mr. Fewster's face, as if he were watching for a cue to speak more plainly. "Well, nothing much, master; except that I should like to know when the cub is coming home."
Mr. Fewster could not help an expression of satisfaction passing into his eyes as he heard Joshua spoken of as a cub, and the Lascar saw it and took his cue from it.
"What do you want to know for? What is Joshua Marvel to you?"
"He is this to me," cried the Lascar, the dark blood rushing into his face and making it darker; "that if I had him here, I would stamp upon him with my feet, and spoil his beauty for him! He is this to me, that if I could twist his heart-strings I would do it, and laugh in his face the while! See me now, master; look at me well. I did not ask you for money, for I know you, and I know you don't give nothing for nothing. But I might have asked you, and with reason, for I want it. Look at my feet" (Mr. Fewster noticed, for the first time, that the Lascar's feet were bare); "Look at my clothes--rags. That old thief, Praiseworthy Meddler, kicked me off his barge where I've lived and slept this many a year. And every blow he struck at me went down to Joshua Marvel's account, and makes it heavier against him. See you; the Lascar dog never forgets. I've sworn an oath, and I'll keep it. I've put a cross against him, and he shall see it when he is dying."
Solomon Fewster looked at the wretch before him, quivering with passion and shivering with cold, and deliberately cracked his fingers one after another. When the operation was concluded, he said, lightly, as taking no interest in what the Lascar had said,--
"That is your business, my friend; not mine. I will tell you as far as I know about this young gentleman who has served you so well. He is not coming home yet a while, I believe--not before the end of the year, perhaps. I dare say you'll manage to see him when he does come home."
"Yes, I'll manage to see him then," said the Lascar, with a sudden quietude of manner and with a furtive rook at Mr. Fewster's face--a look which said, "You are trying to deceive me, master; let us see who is the more cunning--you or I." Then aloud, "Thank you for answering my question. You say it is not your business, this hate of mine for Joshua Marvel. Yet there may be something in common between us for I've seen you walking with the girl who worships Joshua Marvel."
"How do you know that she worships him?" demanded Mr. Fewster, thrown off his guard, his heart beating loud and fast.