“Make your mind easy, sir; it is not that I think you at all;” and the fellow lent an emphasis to the “that” which gave it a most insulting significance.
“I 'd like to know,” cried Sewell, as his face crimsoned with anger, “if you could have dared to offer such a document as this to any man you didn't believe to be a fool.”
“The devil a drop of fool's blood is in either of us,” said O'Reardon, with an easy air and a low laugh of quiet assurance.
“I am flattered by the companionship, certainly. It almost restores me to self-esteem to hear your words. I'd like to pay you a compliment in turn if I only knew how.”
“Just pay me my little bill, your honor, and it will be all mask.”
“I'm not over-much in a joking mood this morning, and I 'd advise you to talk of something else. There 's a five-pound note for you;” and he flung the money contemptuously towards him. “Take it, and think yourself devilish lucky that I don't have you up for perjury in this business.”
O'Reardon never moved, nor made any sign to show that he noticed the money at his feet; but, crossing his arms on his chest, he drew himself haughtily up, and said: “So, then, it's defying me you 'd try now? You 'd have me up for perjury! Well, then, I begin to believe you are a fool, after all. No, sir, you need n't put your hand in your waistcoat. If you have a pistol there, I have another; and, what's more, I have a witness in that clump of trees, that only needs the word to stand beside me. There, now, Colonel, you see you 're beat, and beat at your own game too.”
“D—n you!” cried Sewell, savagely. “Can't you see that I 've got no money?”
“If I have n't money, I 'll have money's worth. Short of twenty pounds I 'll not leave this.”
“I tell you again, you might as well ask me for two hundred or two thousand. I 'll be in cash, I hope, by the end of the week—”