He passed the glass to Little first. But the young man's blood was boiling with his wrongs, and this patronizing air irritated him to boot. He took the glass in his hand, “Here's quick exposure—sudden death—and sure damnation—to all hypocrites and assassins!” He drained the glass to this toast, flung sixpence on the table, and strode out, white with passion himself, and leaving startled faces behind him.
“So be it,” said Grotait; and his wicked little eye glittered dangerously.
That same evening, a signal, well known to certain workmen in Hillsborough, peeped in the window of “The Cutlers' Arms.” And, in consequence, six or seven ill-conditioned fellows gathered about the doors and waited patiently for further information.
Amongst these was a sturdy fellow of about nine-and-twenty, whose existence was a puzzle to his neighbors. During the last seven years he had worked only eighteen months all together. The rest of the time he had been on the Saw-Grinders' box, receiving relief, viz.: seven shillings and sixpence for his wife, and two shillings for each child; and every now and then he would be seen with three or four sovereigns in his possession.
The name of this masterful beggar, of this invalid in theory, who, in fact, could eat three pounds of steak at a sitting, was Biggs; but it is a peculiarity of Hillsborough to defy baptismal names, and substitute others deemed spicier. Out of the parish register and the records of the police courts, the scamp was only known as Dan Tucker.
This Dan stood, with others, loitering about “The Cutlers' Arms.”
Presently out came Grotait, and surveyed the rascally lot. He beckoned to Dan, and retired.
Dan went in after him.
“Drat his luck!” said one of the rejected candidates, “he always gets the job.” The rest then dispersed.
Tucker was shown into a pitch-dark room, and there a bargain was struck between him and men unseen. He and two more were to go to Cairnhope, and DO Little. He was to avoid all those men who had lately stood at the door with him, and was to choose for his companions Simmons the grinder, and one Sam Cole, a smooth, plausible fellow, that had been in many a dark job, unsuspected even by his wife and family, who were respectable.