"What do you want, fellow?" demanded James Grey, sternly, in order to keep up appearances, for he recognized his confederate. "Let go that bridle."
"I want money," said Hugh Trimble, for, of course it was he.
"Is this the fashion in which you ask it?" said Mr. Grey. "Let go my bridle, and come round to my house. Then I will listen to your application, and, if I find you deserving, I will grant your request."
"That don't go down," said Hugh, roughly. "You rich men take good care of your money. I shouldn't stand no chance at your house."
"As much there as here."
"Maybe not," said the man, significantly. "There you'd be master. Here, I am master."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that I want five hundred dollars, and I mean to have it."
"Do you dare to threaten me?"
"Yes, I do. You are a rich man—I am poor. You can spare five hundred dollars without feeling it."