It shone and winked like a star upon the rough board, a great ruby set in brilliants. Gamaliel set the bottle beside it.
“Now,” said Dawkins, “put a price on what you done, Hookey.”
“Oh, well, we shan’t quarrel over the price,” said Gamaliel, amiably. “We haven’t come to the dividend yet. Say a hundred pieces of eight, and I hold the ring as bond.”
“Why, you shark, the ring’s worth five times that,” cried Dawkins. “And I wouldn’t sell it, neither.”
“It’s only security, Jemmy—only a matter of form,” said the Jew.
“Well, you give me a receipt, and I hold the bottle,” said Dawkins.
“And mighty little use to you, by what I heard to-night,” returned Gamaliel. “But please yourself, Jemmy. I reckon you’ll do better next time.”
“All’s one for that,” said Dawkins. “Agreed. I take the bottle.”
He laid a hand on the bottle, and Gamaliel reached for the ring. But Dawkins was too quick for him. He snatched up the ring, clapped it into his mouth, and sprang back, his knife shining in his hand.
“Now stand quiet, Hookey,” said he, stowing the bottle inside his vest. “I could wipe the floor with two such as you, and never sweat over it. What! You wouldn’t take the word of a gentleman o’ fortune, wouldn’t you? And a Jew, too, was it! Mother of Moses! Well, now you got to, d’ye see? A hundred pieces of eight, was it?—how cheap you work, Hookey, to be sure.”