"He is my substitute," exclaimed the grocer.
"Is he? And do you know what you must pay to be allowed to make use of him?" asked the bashaw.
"No, you old thief, I don't," said Figgins, softly; then aloud—"how much?"
"Two hundred sequins," said the judge.
"Oh, certainly," assented the orphan; "no doubt you intend to empty my box before you let me go."
This restored the complacency of the bashaw, who, having by this last demand used up all the grocer's cash, finished by taking possession of his cash-box to carry it away in.
Having locked it safely up, he cried—
"I wish to be amused. Let the fight commence at once."
Tinker received a scimitar from the hands of Mr. Figgins, and flourished it gaily round his head.
Bosja, who could not afford to pay for a substitute, made a great effort to pull himself together for the strife, but he looked very white, and his teeth chattered audibly.