“E-hem!” said the rich man, clearing his throat, which seemed to him uncommonly husky; “I do not know whether I insulted your poverty, my dear Mr. Darvil—I hope not; but this is hardly a time for talking—pray let me mount, and—”
“Not a time for talking!” interrupted Darvil angrily; “it’s just the time to my mind: let me consider,—ay, I told you that whenever we met by the roadside it would be my turn to have the best of the argufying.”
“I dare say—I dare say, my good fellow.”
“Fellow not me!—I won’t be fellowed now. I say I have the best of it here—man to man—I am your match.”
“But why quarrel with me?” said the banker, coaxingly; “I never meant you harm, and I am sure you cannot mean me harm.”
“No!—and why?” asked Darvil, coolly;—“why do you think I can mean you no harm?”
“Because your annuity depends on me.”
“Shrewdly put—we’ll argufy that point. My life is a bad one, not worth more than a year’s purchase; now, suppose you have more than forty pounds about you—it may be better worth my while to draw my knife across your gullet than to wait for the quarter-day’s ten pounds a time. You see it’s all a matter of calculation, my dear, Mr. What’s-your-name!”
“But,” replied the banker, and his teeth began to chatter, “I have not forty pounds about me.”
“How do I know that?—you say so. Well, in the town yonder your word goes for more than mine; I never gainsaid you when you put that to me, did I? But here, by the haystack, my word is better than yours; and if I say you must and shall have forty pounds about you, let’s see whether you dare contradict me.”