“Mr Dillon, you don’t know him, sir!” cried Nic earnestly. “Such a cruel act would drive the poor fellow mad.”
“I know him, and I know you, my boy. There, you are young and enthusiastic; but I see, plainly enough, you have been too much with this fellow. There, frankly, you have been with him a good deal?”
“Yes, sir,” said Nic.
“Precisely. And he has not corrupted you, but he has made you believe that he is an injured, innocent man. Frankly, now, is it not so?”
“Yes, and I do believe,” said Nic quietly.
“Exactly. Well, my dear boy, you see I do not; and if you will take my advice you will have nothing to do with him in the future.”
“Mr Dillon, you are mistaken,” cried Nic. “Pray—pray do not punish him!”
“My dear young friend, pray—pray don’t you interfere with a magistrate’s duties.”
“Then you will not let him come, sir?”
“Certainly not, for at least a week.”