“A precious rogue he must be,” said the butcher.
“He is a sneaking, cowardly villain. He is one of those who won’t do his share of an ugly job, and yet wants more than his share of the reward.”
“Humph! An ugly job.”
“Yes—I said it—drink—drink.”
“What’s his name?” said the butcher.
“His name is Jacob Gray.”
“A nice name for a small party. Well, we’ll settle his business for him—humanely, you know, Master Britton, always humanely, say I. My cleaver is the thing—there ain’t no sort of trouble with it, you may depend.”
“Bond,” whispered Britton.
“Britton,” said Bond.
“If there should be any occasion, which I think there will be, to smash this fellow, do you mind lending me that same cleaver of yours?”