‘Sit down,’ said Jervase, pointing to a chair. His son obeyed him, and he took a seat at the opposite side of the table, leaning both his arms forward ponderously. ‘Now, you and me have got to have this out, I see.’
‘Yes,’ the young man answered, repressing a sick shudder. ‘We must have it out, father.’
‘Very well; I suppose you believe the yarn these chaps have pitched to Stubbs?’
‘What am I to believe?’
‘Suppose it’s true, what do you think is going to happen?’
‘Shame and ruin to us all,’ said Polson.
‘As for shame—maybe yes—most likely no. As for ruin—that’s as I please.’
‘Oh?’
‘That’s as I please, I tell you. If this here idiot hadn’t come bursting in and yelping out his story as he did, we could have managed some sort of a compromise quite easy. As it is, we’ve got our own partner again us. You can guess what sort of a chance that’d give us in a court of justice. Now you remember, Polson. This ain’t a civil perceeding. The minute they get them chaps over from Canada and the States it’s a criminal prosecution. D’ye want to see your own father in the dock? I don’t, and so I tell you. He isn’t going to stand there—you may bet your life to that, and say I told you. If I can get this braying jackass, this leaking sieve, this trembling, yowking lady’s lapdog out o’ the way I can face things.’
‘You can say what you like about me, John,’ said Mr. Jervoyce.