“I know that,” said Beecher, half timidly; for no sooner in the redoubted presence than he began to tremble at his own temerity.
“This Mr. Dunn is a practical sort of man, they say, so that we shall soon understand each other,” said Davis.
“Oh, you'll like him greatly.”
“I don't want to like him,” broke in Grog; “nor do I want him to like me.”
“He's a fellow of immense influence just now; can do what he pleases with the Ministry.”
“So much the better for him,” said Grog, bluntly.
“And for his friends, sir,” added Beecher. “He has only to send in a name, and he's sure to get what he asks for, at home or abroad.”
“How convenient!” said Grog; and whether it was an accident or not, he directed his eyes full on Beecher as he spoke, and as suddenly a deep blush spread over the other's face. “Very convenient, indeed,” went on Grog, while his unrelenting glance never wavered nor turned away. As he stared, so did Beecher's confusion increase, till at last, unable to endure more, he turned away, sick at heart “My Lord Viscount,” said Grog, gravely, “let me give you a word of counsel: never commit a murder; for if you do, your own fears will hang you.”
“I don't understand you,” faltered out Beecher.
“Yes, you do; and right well too,” broke in Grog, boldly. “What rubbish have you got into your head now, about 'a place' for me? What nonsensical scheme about making me an inspector of this or a collector of that? Do you imagine that for any paltry seven or eight hundred a year I 'm going to enter into recognizance not to do what's worth six times the amount? Mayhap you 'd like to send me to India or to China. Oh, that's the dodge, is it?” exclaimed he, as the crimson flush now extended over Beecher's forehead to the very roots of his hair. “Well, where is it to be? There 's a place called Bogota, where they always have yellow fever; couldn't you get me named consul there? Oh dear, oh dear!” laughed he out, “how you will go on playing that little game, though you never score a point!”