The foreigner laughed—a saturnine laugh. “I haf,” he said, “ze advantage of moch experience.”
“Don’t doubt it,” replied the other. “You’re an older hand than me. Now, listen. We got to meet here to-morrow night at half-past seven. It’s a good three hours’ pull even with a falling tide.”
“I shall be here,” replied the foreigner, grimly. “Ah, most certainly shall I be here. Eet ees a bargain, zen, eh?”
“That’s settled,” said the other, “and, remember, no violence. I got no wish to see you ’ung, Frenchy.”
“Nor I you,” replied the Frenchman, politely. “Eet will surely break my heart zat my dear friend terminate hees career—sacre bleu!—upon ze sgaffold. Non, non!”
“No, but no funny business,” pleaded the other man, earnestly. “I ain’t used to that sort o’ thing, if you are. Besides, the thing can be done without any trouble if you go quietly. It’s the safest job was ever put up in this world.”
“You can depend zat eet will be done, mon ami. Yes, eet will be done. Already I am tired of zis countree. I would get back to France—to Paris—vere zere ees vat you call ze scope for mine ability. Eet is not here zat should remain ze man of parts—non!”
“That’s right,” agreed the other; “I want to get down to Melbourne meself. Damn the country! Since I cleared out o’ Trial Bay last June I ain’t ad a decent spree or met a pal, as was a pal, exceptin’ that little cove down the river wot laid me on to this. An’ then ’e’s turned respectable, and won’t take no active part in it. Sez ’e’s only puttin’ me on to this fer the sake of old times.”
“Ah! but he has done us ze great service.”
“Yes, and that puts ’im in it—so ’e’s safe. I wouldn’t trust no converted bloke unless I ’ad a pull over ’im like that. Goin’ with those Salvation coves ’as sent ’im ratty. But that’s only temporary. ’E’ll work it off. ’E’ll come out all right again, will Joe. ’E’s too good a cove to be spiled with religion for long.”