"You're game is up, my precious cully," he said savagely, "and you'd best put a pleasant phiz on you and give in."
I glanced at the clock. "I think not, Danny," I says softly; "there is some mistake, sure. There's ten more hours to run—a pleasant little holiday for all three. And, by the way, where are my friends Ned and Blake? I don't see their handsome faces."
Creech grinned in a sour way. "You'll make their acquaintance soon enough," says he.
"Oh! waiting outside, eh?" says I. "Bashful, eh?"
"Yes," says Creech, showing his teeth. "Just waiting outside on your convenience, Captain; just awaiting for to help your honour into the saddle."
"You overload me with favours, Danny," says I, going on with my breakfast undisturbed.
But Creech's temper was too constrained to carry the jest further, and he broke out harshly,—
"Hark 'ee, Dick; why the hell d'ye pull such a long face over the job? What does this play-acting do? Bah! Out with the casket, and we'll split a bottle on it."
Forthwith I put my hand under my coat, and fetching out the casket set it on the table afore me. Upon that I placed the bag of guineas, and atop of all a brace of pistols.
"Come and take 'em," says I, mimicking Creech's own words to me. "Come and take 'em, Danny. Here they are.—Rip me, Danny, where's your grit?"