Schomberg made a slight negative sign with his head. This direct appeal annoyed him, jarred on the induced quietude of a great talker forced into the part of a listener and sunk in it as a man sinks into slumber. Mr. Ricardo struck a note of scorn.
“Don't know why? Can't you guess? No? Because the boss had got hold of the skipper's cash-box by then. See?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“A common thief!”
Schomberg bit his tongue just too late, and woke up completely as he saw Ricardo retract his lips in a cat-like grin; but the companion of “plain Mr. Jones” didn't alter his comfortable, gossiping attitude.
“Garn! What if he did want to see his money back, like any tame shopkeeper, hash-seller, gin-slinger, or ink-spewer does? Fancy a mud turtle like you trying to pass an opinion on a gentleman! A gentleman isn't to be sized up so easily. Even I ain't up to it sometimes. For instance, that night, all he did was to waggle his finger at me. The skipper stops his silly chatter, surprised.
“'Eh? What's the matter?' asks he.
“The matter! It was his reprieve—that's what was the matter.
“'O, nothing, nothing,' says my gentleman. 'You are perfectly right. A log—nothing but a log.'