“It was only what you deserved for the trick you played me, old fellow,” retorted the Doctor, but with amazing coolness alike of tone and manner.
“I don’t deny that I bilked you out of a part of your reglars in the matter alluded to,” said Bob: “but it didn’t deserve such a return as you gived me in the Haunted House. Thank God, I had my revenge on the old o’oman t’other night.”
“Yes—she’s disposed of,” observed Jack; “and I can’t forgive you for it, Bob—even if you wished us to be friends. She was a fine old creature,—and I had an affection for her, because she was the ugliest wretch I ever saw in the shape of a woman—and her spirit was admirable.”
“I meant the blow for you, Jack,” said Vitriol Bob: “but it’s just as well now that the bottle broke over her, since you and me have met again.”
“Have you got another bottle in your pocket, Bob?” demanded the Doctor: “because if we are to have a tuzzle for it before we part, I may as well put myself on as equal terms with you as possible.”
“I shan’t take no unfair advantage, Jack,” was the reply: and, as the villain thus spoke, he slapped his hands against the skirts of his coat his breeches’ pockets, and his breast, to convince his antagonist that he had no bottle about his person.
“There’s nothing like fair play, Bob,” returned the Doctor; “and therefore if you like to feel about me to convince yourself that I have no fire-arms, you’re welcome.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Jack,” responded Vitriol Bob. “But I suppose you have got a clasp-knife.”
“I never go without one,” was the answer: “and it’s as sharp as a razor.”
“So is mine,” observed the other miscreant; and then there was a long pause, during which the two men contemplated each other with a calmness and serenity that would have prevented even the most acute observer from noticing the malignant light that gleamed in the depths of their eyes.