Creech winked. "I ain't afeard of your toasting-fork," he said, "though you are used to wear it for a taunt. I have as many bloody facts to my tally as, maybe, Dick Ryder himself. But I'm no precious baby, to risk my skin in behalf of what's my own. An you take 'em, you shall reckon with the gang."
"Damme," says I, "gang or no, 'tis all one with me. I'll have 'em within a round of the clock."
"No, no, young fellow," replied Creech, with a sly look. "'Tisn't upon our side as the whole bargain must lie. Strike me a proper balance. Curse me, if you're for sport, I'll meet you. Put up that crown. D'ye think I'm to cast away the baubles on the fall of a shield? Place me something fat in the scales."
"Why, my sword," says I, with a laugh.
Creech grunted.
"Calypso," says I.
"Bah!" says he; "mare and sword and all, yourself atop, my young blood."
"Would you buy blood for money?" I asked.
"Faith, yes," he answered; "'tis the fashion of the trade. And you're a pretty hand with the irons. Look at you—you with your fine fancy dress, for all the world like a gentleman in his Majesty's service. Stout muscles, Dick, but small wits behind 'em. What say you? You shall have the trinkets, and the guineas too if you can get 'em. But an you fail we'll have you, by hell, body and soul for twelve months."