“Oh, murther!” exclaimed Tom. “I thought I 'd have you in the 'Coort,' just to look up at you from time to time, to give me courage and make me feel bowld; for it does give me courage when I see you so calm and so azy, without as much as a tremble in your voice.”
“It is not likely that I shall be there,” rejoined Linton; “but mind, if I be, that you do not direct your eyes towards me. Remember, that every look you give, every gesture you make, will be watched and noted.”
“I wondher how I'll get through it!” exclaimed the other, sorrowfully.
“You'll get through it admirably, man, if you'll only think that you are not the person in peril. It is your conscience alone can bring you into any danger.”
“Well, I hope so! with the help of—” The fellow stopped short, and a red flush of shame spread itself over features which in a whole life long had never felt a blush.
“I 'd like to be able to give you something better than this, Tom,” said Linton, as he placed a handful of loose silver in the other's palm, “but it is safer for the present that you should not be seen with much money.”
“I owe more than this at Mark Shea's 'public,'” said Tom, looking discontentedly at the money.
“And why should you owe it?” said Linton, bitterly. “What is there in your circumstances to warrant debts of this kind?”
“Did n't I earn it—tell me that?” asked the ruffian, with a savage earnestness.
“I see that you are hopeless,” said Linton, turning away in disgust. “Take your own course, and see where it will lead you.”