They stood aside, and as the lovers passed, heedful of nothing, conscious of nothing, but their own great happiness, their faces met, and a kiss passed between them. In his torment of jealousy, Solomon Fewster grasped the Lascar's shoulder so tightly as to make the man wince. The dog shook himself free from his master, and said, "Well, he'll be away soon, and you'll have the pretty Ellen all to yourself. Come, now; I don't want to stop here all night. Let us say what we've got to say, and be done with it."
Solomon Fewster walked away a few steps to recover his composure, and when he had mastered his agitation, returned to the Lascar.
"I shipped this morning, through an agent," said the Lascar; "here are my papers."
"It is too dark for me to see them; I must take your word that you have done what you say."
"You have taken my word before, master, and you have found me faithful. You keep your part of the bargain; I shall keep mine. It is my interest to do so."
"Yes, your interest," said Solomon Fewster, with somewhat of a bitter emphasis. "You have cost me enough, you dog."
Notwithstanding that their positions of master and dog might have been appropriately reversed, the old fiction was kept up between them, with insolent arrogance on one side, and with mock humility on the other. Neither of them deceived the other.
"I might have cost you more, master," replied the Lascar; "but go on."
"Let us see then, if we are agreed upon the position Of matters, and if we understand one another. When a certain thing happened last Christmas, which nearly cost a whelp his life, you thought it necessary for your safety"--
"We thought it necessary for our safety," corrected the Lascar.