“Yes,” cried Buck; “you’ve been thin-skinned ’bout it—no mistake o’ that. Your damned thin-skinnedness, as you call it, has cost me five hundred silver dollars.”
“Me the same,” said Slaughter.
“Well, for that matter, we all had to pay alike; and now let us all agree to share alike in any law expenses, in case it should come to that; for my part, I don’t think it will.”
“And why won’t it?” asked Randall, whose law experience, himself being a practitioner, guided him to a different conclusion. “You don’t suppose that the old Shylock will yield without a trial? Trust me, fellows, he’ll fight hard to stick to that six hundred dollars per annum he’s been so long pulling out of us.”
“Damn him! let him fight! What can he do? Let him tell his story, and what evidence can he bring to support it? As I’ve said, his oath won’t count for anything against all six of ours.”
“But, Alf; you forget the body?”
This reminiscence called up by Randall, caused all the others to start; for all had forgotten it—Brandon alone excepted.
“No, I don’t,” replied the latter, with an air of triumph at his own astuteness.
“Well, he’d bring that up, wouldn’t he?”
“No doubt he would, if we’re fools enough to let him.”