He tried to raise himself, leaning on one hand, and with the other feebly pointing the falchion to keep us off.
“Thieves,” said he, “let us understand each other. If you must cut my throat, you must fight for it, and, after all, I have nothing to make it worth your trouble. By Jove and Venus,” and he laughed with the strange jocularity that sometimes besets the bold in the last peril, “the cleverest robber in Jerusalem could make nothing of me.”
I stood in the shadow, while he again tried his expostulation.
The Roman Negotiates
“My clothes would not sell for the smallest coin in your sashes; I could not furnish out a scarecrow—yet Jewish patriots, or thieves, or saints, or all together, I will tell you how you can make money of me. Take me to the Roman camp, and I answer for your fortune on the spot.”
I laughed in my turn.
“By all that’s honest, I never was more serious in my life,” said he; “far be it from me to trifle with heroes of your profession. You shall have my helmetful of gold Vespasians.”
“Well, then,” said I, coming forward, “you shall live at least for to-night; but there is one condition which I can not give up——”
“Of course, that I give you two helmetsful instead of one. Agreed.”
“The condition from which nothing can make me recede is——”