Beecher bowed an assent in silence, casting a cautious glance towards Davis, who was scanning the contents of the morning paper.
“Till then,” muttered Dunn, while he added aloud, “A good-morning,” and bowed them both to the door.
“Well, you are a soft un, there's no denying it,” said Davis, as they gained the street.
“What d'ye mean?” cried Beecher, angrily.
“Why, don't you see how you spoiled all? I'd have had the whole story out of him, but you would n't give me time to 'work the oracle.' He only wanted to show us how cunning he was,—that he was deep and all that; and when he saw that we were all wonder and amazement about his shrewdness, then he 'd have gone to business.”
“Not a bit of it, Master Grog; that fellow's wide awake, I tell you.”
“So much the worse for you, then, that's all.”
“Why so?”
“Because you're a going to dine with him on Sunday next, all alone. I heard it, though you did n't think I was listening, and I saw the look that passed, too, as much as to say, 'We 'll not have that fellow;' and that's the reason I say, 'So much the worse for you.'”
“Why, what can he do, with all his craft? He can't make me put my name to paper; and if he did, much good would it do him.”