“After all,” said Beecher, after a pause, “let the journey be ever so necessary, I have n't got the money.”
“I know you haven't, neither have I; but we shall get it somehow. You 'll have to try Kellett; you 'll have to try Dunn himself, perhaps. I don't see why you should n't start with him. He knows that you ought to confer with my Lord; and he could scarce refuse your note at three months, if you made it—say fifty.”
“But, Grog,” said Beecher, laying down his cigar, and nerving himself for a great effort of cool courage, “what would suffice fairly enough for one, would be a very sorry allowance for two; and as the whole of my business will be with my own brother,—where of necessity I must be alone with him,—don't you agree with me that a third person would only embarrass matters rather than advance them?”
“No!” said Grog, sternly, while he puffed his cigar in measured time.
“I 'm speaking,” said Beecher, in a tone of apology,—“I'm speaking, remember, from my knowledge of Lackington. He's very high and very proud,—one of those fellows who 'take on,' even with their equals; and with myself, he never forgets to let me feel I'm a younger brother.”
“He would n't take any airs with me,” said Grog, insolently. And Beecher grew actually sick at the bare thought of such a meeting.
“I tell you frankly, Davis,” said he, with the daring of despair, “it wouldn't do. It would spoil all. First and foremost, Lackington would never forgive me for having confided this secret to any one. He'd say, and not unfairly either, 'What has Davis to do with this? It's not the kind of case he is accustomed to deal with; his counsel could n't possibly be essential here.' He does n't know,” added he, rapidly, “your consummate knowledge of the world; he hasn't seen, as I have, how keenly you read every fellow that comes before you.”
“We start on Monday,” said Grog, abruptly, as he threw the end of his cigar into the fire; “so stir yourself, and see about the bills.”
Beecher arose and walked the room with hurried strides, his brow growing darker and his face more menacing at every moment.
“Look here, Davis,” cried he, turning suddenly round and facing the other, “you assume to treat me as if I was a—schoolboy;” and it was evident that he had intended a stronger word, but had not courage to utter it, for Davis's wicked eyes were upon him, and a bitter grin of irony was already on Grog's mouth as he said,—