“Wretch? Oh! Well, I like that. Why, some men would ha’ gone straight to your uncle here, and told him all about it; but I didn’t, and I’d made up my mind to send him the money back, only I met two or three mates, and I had to change one of ’em to give the poor lads a drink o’ ale.”
“You own, then, that you had my money, sir?” cried the old merchant.
“Well—some on it, master. He give it me. S’pose I oughtn’t to have took it, but I didn’t like to come and tell you, and get the poor lad into trouble. He’s so young, you see.”
“Uncle, it is not true!” cried Lindon, excitedly.
“But you had one of the guineas in your pocket, sir.”
“Yes, uncle, but—”
“Course he had,” interrupted Mike sharply. “I told you it wouldn’t do, Master Don. I begged you not to.”
“You villain!” cried Don, grinding his teeth, while his uncle watched him with a sidelong look.
“Calling names won’t mend it, my lad. I knowed it was wrong. I telled him not to, sir, but he would.”
This was to the constable in a confidential tone, and that functionary responded with a solemn wink.