“And why not before?” said he, almost insolently.
“If you must know the reason,” said Linton, affecting a smile, “you shall hear it. Your incaution would make you at once the object of suspicion, were you to be seen with money at command as freely as you will have it hereafter.”
“Will you give me that in writin'?—will you give it to me undher your hand?” asked Keane, boldly.
“Of course I will,” said Linton, who was too subtle a tactician to hesitate about a pledge which could not be exacted on the instant.
“That's what I call talkin fair,” said Keane; “an', by my sowl, it's the best of your play to trate me well.”
“There is only one thing in the world could induce me to do otherwise.”
“An' what's that, sir?”
“Your daring to use a threat to me!” said Linton, sternly. “There never was the man that tried that game—and there have been some just as clever fellows as Tom Keane who did try it—who did n't find that they met their match.”
“I only ax what's right and fair,” said the other, abashed by the daring effrontery of Linton's air.
“And you shall have it, and more. You shall either have enough to settle in America, or, if you prefer it, to live abroad.”