"But surely—"
"Ay, surely, sir, I'm no object of charity whining for alms, no, by
Gad! I—I'm—Dig, push the brandy!"
"If you would but listen—" Barnabas began again.
"Not—not a word. Why should I? Past's dead, and damn the Future. Dig, pass the brandy."
"And I tell you," said Barnabas, "that in the future are hope and the chance of a new life, once you are free of Gaunt."
"Free of Gaunt! Hark to that, Dig. Must be dev'lish drunk to talk such cursed f-folly! Why, I tell you again," he cried in rising passion, "that I couldn't get free of Gaunt's talons even if I had the money, and mine's all gone long ago, and half Cleone's beside, —her Guardian's tied up the rest. She can't touch another penny without his consent, damn him!—so I'm done. The future? In the future is a debtor's prison that opens for me whenever Jasper Gaunt says the word. Hope? There can be no hope for me till Jasper Gaunt's dead and shrieking in hell-fire."
"But your debts shall be paid,—if you will."
"Paid? Who—who's to pay 'em?"
"I will."
"You!—you?"