"I added a word of advice about the ape's bite, for which I received some choice Dutch blasphemy."
"What was the advice?"
"To allow me to apply a white-hot poker to the wound. The bite of an ape is a nasty thing."
"And what was the reply?" asked Dick.
"Stripped of the cursing, it was to the effect that my gentleman could make better use of a hot poker than to burn himself with it. Excuse me from repeating the precise terms: they were not in the best taste."
"Give him to understand that he will be removed to the lock-up, where he will be strongly guarded, and committed to Lincoln to-morrow."
"And you will give order that his hurt be looked to, will you not, Squire?" I put in.
"Why, in Heaven's name, should I concern myself about his rascally carcase? Why you should, God only knows."
I certainly did not know; but, nevertheless, a sort of pity had filled me for the wretched man, who had lost so much; love, above all, health, as his bloated face and body showed, his money, as I suspected from his threadbare garments, and every remnant of gentility and self-respect, as he proved by look and word and tone. Poor soldier of fortune though I was, I had infinite wealth in comparison.
"Well, be it so," said the Squire. "I will send for Tankersley."