“Silence,” said Long John.
“I do what you want, Piper, on one condition.”
“Your position does not admit of conditions,” said Piper. “You are completely under my thumb. You dare not move an inch except as I will you—you know that.”
“Your position does not admit of conditions; you are completely under my thumb.”—[Page 168.]
“I do not.”
“What does the fighting cock mean?” cried several voices.
“I owe submission to none of you,” repeated Rowton. “There is always, you men understand, such a thing as throwing up the sponge. I am completely sick of this life. If you put the screw on too tight I throw up the sponge—how I do it is my own affair.”
The man standing there gloomy, defiant, his head thrown back, his bold eyes fixed on the pathetic and peculiar eyes of the chief, was a spectacle to bring forth admiration in the breasts of such men as were members of his School. There was absolute sincerity in Rowton’s tone. He was driven into a corner—he could turn round and show fight. To such a man suicide was more than possible. Suicide would be bad enough. Rowton was an important member of the School—his presence, his individuality, his life, were essential to the carrying on of the nefarious business. If he really threw up the sponge, danger might quickly accrue.
“Your condition?” asked Long John.