"Is it candid that he's to be, when the wife would kick up hell and blazes?" cried O'Blunderbuss. "But I tell you purty frankly, my frind, that if ye don't shell out the seven hunthred pounds——"
"Seven hundred!" ejaculated Sir Christopher. "It says only five hundred in the letter."
"I don't care two r-raps for the letther," answered the Captain: "all I know is that Misther Frank Curtis, your nev-vy, had seven hunthred of me—and, be Jasus! I'll have seven hunthred of you."
"It can't be done," said Sir Christopher doggedly.
"Then, be the holy poker-r! I'll shoot ye to-morrow mornin'!" vociferated the gallant officer: "so name your frind; and I'll take care that ye shan't be afther shir-r-king this time as ye did when ye had to mate my frind Morthaunt."
"Really, Captain O'Blunderbuss, this strange conduct on your part—is—is—" stammered the knight, scarcely knowing what to say or do; while his countenance became elongated to an awful extent.
"Sthrange!—sthrange! do ye say?" exclaimed the Captain. "Why, ye're adding insult to injury, man. But don't desayve yourself—ye won't come the counterfeit-crank over me, be Jasus! I'm not the boy to be bullied afther this fashion, Sir Christopher-r. So shell out the eight hunthred—or be the Lor-r-d Harry!——"
"Eight hundred!" murmured the miserable knight, now cruelly alarmed at the ferocious manner and the progressive attempt at extortion on the part of his visitor.
"Eight hunthred is what I lent, and eight hunthred is what I'll have back," said the Captain, in a determined tone: "and if ye're afther denying your debts of honour-r, Sir Christopher, I'll make such an example of ye as shall let all the wor-rld know what ye are—as soon as I've shot ye dead, which I'll do in the mornin'."
"You surely wouldn't commit such a crime—without—without just provocation?" urged the knight, in a coaxing manner.