"No; he says maybe he can't," replied the jackal.
"That's all one," cried Blarden. "What do you think? Do you think he can?"
"I think maybe he can, if we squeeze him," replied Chancey.
"Then don't squeeze him—he must not get out of our books on any terms—we'll lose him if he does," said Nicholas.
"We'll not renew the notes, but hold them over," said Chancey. "He must not feel them till he can't pay them. We'll make them sit light on him till then—give him plenty of line for a while—rope enough and a little patience—and the devil himself can't keep him out of the noose."
"You're right—you are, Gordy, boy," rejoined Blarden. "Let him get through the ready money first—eh?—and then into the stone jug with him—we'll just choose our own time for striking."
"I tell you what it is, if you are just said and led by me, you'll have a quare hold on him before three months are past and gone," said Chancey, lazily—"mind I tell you, you will."
"Well, Gordy, boy, fill again—fill again—here's success to you."
Chancey filled, and quaffed his bumper, with, a matter-of-fact, business-like air.
"And do you mind me, boy," continued Blarden, "spare nothing in this business—bring Ashwoode entirely under my knuckle—and, by ——, I'll make it a great job for you."