“No, no, in the mornin’, or maybe to-morrow night; old Maxey’s sure ter be shut up afore now.”
“How much ’ull he give us, Jenks?”
“Well, Scamp’s a likely lookin’ tyke, and good size. I ’spect he’ll about suit fur ’is young ’un. Maybe, ef we’re lucky, we may get a matter o’ a bob, or a bob and a tanner, but wot I’ll count on more, and bargain fur, is a sight o’ the fight.”
“Oh, Jenks! is it werry jolly?”
“Awful—real pretty sport,” said Jenks, “partic’lar ef yer cur ’ave a bit of blood in ’im, as I ’spects this ’un ’ave.”
“Will you bring me to see it, Jenks?”
“I can’t rightly say yet, but don’t tell nothink to the little ’un,” jerking his thumb over his shoulders at Flo. “Now come to bed, and don’t let us talk no more.”
They lay down, and soon Jenks was asleep.
Yes, Jenks was asleep—his hardened heart knew no fears, his conscience did not trouble him. Flo, wearied with her sorrow, was also slumbering, and gentle breathings of sweet content and rest came from Scamp, who knew nothing of his impending fate, and felt that he had done his duty.
But Dick could not sleep; he lay in the dark tired enough, but wide awake and trembling.