“Enough of that, Tom,” said the second rogue, a most butchering, determined-looking scoundrel. “His Honour’s swollen head calls for some blood-letting. Stand away while I give him t’other barrel.”
“What! are you going to murder me?” cried the victim.
“Aye, we are that,” answered the ruffian. “A dead man’s easier stripped than a live one, and makes less complaint after.”
“I’ll give you a hundred reasons for sparing me?”
“Hold, Jemmy!” said the parson. “The pick of a hundred will do. What reason of reasons, Mr. Bankrupt?”
“Why, the money in my pocket, which, if it’s more than a beggarly five guineas, may I eat my words.”
“That you shall, and well peppered, I warrant you.”
“I’ll give you my bond for fifty, to be paid on personal presentation.”
“‘A bird in the hand,’ mister. Is that your best?”
“You’d never murder a man for five guineas?” cried the traveller, his voice cracking.