"And so that was your business, Master Tom?" observed Old Death, as soon as the messenger had disappeared. "Well—you have made a good beginning: it promises bright things."
"What! do you fancy that I haven't had plenty of experience down in the country?" cried Rainford. "Ah! I could tell you a tale or two—but no matter now."
"And the little business, Tom," inquired the old man,—"did it turn out worth the trouble? The advertisement says——"
"Hark'ee, Master Death," exclaimed Rainford, firmly; "that business does not regard you. Our compact dates from this morning——"
"Oh! very good—very good!" interrupted Old Death in a surly tone. "Be it as you say: but remember—if you do get into any trouble on account of this, you mustn't expect me to help you out of it."
"Neither do I," answered Tom. "However, I am a generous chap in my way, and I don't mind yielding to you in this instance; for you must suppose that I can see your drift plain enough. The advertisement says 'A purse containing a Bank-note for fifty pounds and eleven sovereigns, and a reticule containing a purse in which there were three ten-pound notes and sixteen sovereigns.' This is accurate enough. The reticule I flung away: the two purses I kept—and here they are."
Thus speaking, Tom Rainford threw upon the table the objects last mentioned.
Old Death's eyes glared with a kind of savage joy as they caught a glimpse of the yellow metal and the flimsy paper through the net-work of the purses.
"Pretty things—pretty things!" he muttered between his toothless gums. "I think you'll do well, Tom."
"And I am sure I shall. But turn the money out on the table: you care more about the handling of it than I do."