“Yes, on the terms you mention.”
“I believe you 're right. Put the bold face on, and stand the battle. Now the real case is this. My brother Lack-ington has just been served with notice—”
Just as Beecher had uttered the last word, his arm, which rested on the binnacle against which he was standing, was grasped with such force that he almost cried out with the pain, and at the same instant a muttered curse fell upon his ear.
“Go on,” said Conway, as he waited to hear more.
Beecher muttered some unintelligible words about feeling suddenly chilled, and “wanting a little brandy,” and disappeared down the stairs to the cabin.
“I heard you,” cried Davis, as soon as the other entered,—“I heard you! and if I hadn't heard you with my own ears, I 'd not have believed it! Have n't I warned you, not once but fifty times, against that confounded peaching tongue of yours? Have n't I told you that if every act of your life was as pure and honest as you know it is not, your own stupid talk would make an indictment against you? You meet a fellow on the deck of a steamer—”
“Stop there!” cried Beecher, whose temper was sorely tried by this attack. “The gentleman I talked with is an old acquaintance; he knows me,—ay, and what's more, he knows you!”
“Many a man knows me, and does not feel himself much the better for his knowledge!” said Davis, boldly.
“Well, I believe our friend here would n't say he was the exception to that rule,” said Beecher, with an ironical laugh.
“Who is he?—what's his name?”