“I double my offer,” cried Learmont.
“Double?” echoed Gray.
“Aye, double. Let me but be sure that he is no more, and upon your arrival in any part of America you may choose, you will find an order there for the amount.”
“No! No!” cried Britton.
“’Tis a large sum, a very large sum,” murmured Gray.
“Hark ye!” cried Learmont, his face glowing with excitement. “Hark ye! your presence will be my curse. Every time I see you will blast my eyes with the remembrance of what I intend to forget in the vortex of pleasure. My double offer amounts to no less a sum than two thousand pounds to each of you. Once more, I raise your price, I will make those sums three thousand each.”
“It is useless,” said Britton. “A night at the gaming table, and we are beggars again. No, Learmont, there is nothing like a constant resource.”
“Very true,” said Gray. “That is exceedingly true; besides; my feelings would not allow me to take the life of—of—”
“Your feelings?” cried Learmont. “Wretch! If among us three there be one more doubly damned by crime than another, that one is Jacob Gray. If there be one villain more coldly calculating than another, it is thou. Talk of thy feelings? thou sneaking ruffian—thou shrinking cut-throat!”
The smith threw himself back in his chair, and burst into a peal of uproarious laughter.