“Well,” the gray personage laughed, “being what you are, remembering what I have with candor and exact honesty told you, if you can permit this old pirate––”
I stopped him. I would have no more of it––not I, by Heaven!
“This extortionate old––”
“I’ll not hear it!” I roared.
“In this fine faith,” sneers he, “I find at least the 240 gratifying prospect of being some day privileged to observe Top broil as on a griddle in hell.”
’Twas most obscure.
“I refer,” says he, “to the moment of grand climax when this pirate tells you where your diamonds came from. Your diamonds?” he flashed. “You may get quit of your diamonds; but the fine gentleman this low villain has fashioned of a fishing-skipper’s whelp will all your days keep company at your elbow. And you won’t love Top for this,” says he, with malevolent satisfaction; “you won’t love Top!”
I walked to the window for relief from him. ’Twas all very well that he should discredit and damn my uncle in this way; ’twas all very well that he should raise spectres of unhappiness before me: but there, on the opposite pavement, abroad in the foggy wind, jostled by ill-tempered passengers, was this self-same old foster-father of mine, industriously tap-tapping the pavement with his staff, as he had periodically done, whatever the weather, since I could remember the years of my life. I listened to the angry tapping, watched the urchins and curious folk gather for the show; and I was moved to regard the mystifying spectacle with an indulgent grin. The gray stranger, however, at that instant got ear of the patter of the staff and the clamor of derision. He cried upon me sharply to stand from the window; but I misliked this harsh manner of authority, and would not budge: whereupon he sprang upon me, caught me about the middle, and violently flung me back. ’Twas too late to avert the catastrophe: my uncle had 241 observed me, and was even then bound across the street, flying all sail, to the terrified confusion of the exalted political personage whose career he menaced. ’Twas a pitiable spectacle of fright and helpless uncertainty the man furnished, seeming at one moment bent on keeping my uncle out, whom he feared to admit, at another to wish him well in, whom he dared not exclude.
“The man’s stark mad!” he would repeat, in his panic of gesture and pacing. “The man’s stark mad to risk this!”
My uncle softly closed the door behind him. “Ah, Dannie!” says he. “You here?” He was breathless, and gone a ghastly color; there was that about his scars and eyes, too, to make me wonder whether ’twas rage or fear had mastered him: I could not tell, but mightily wished to determine, since it seemed that some encounter impended. “Ye’re an unkind man,” says he, in a passionless way, to the gray stranger, who was now once more seated at his desk, fingering the litter of documents. “Ye’ve broke your word t’ me. I must punish ye for the evil ye’ve done this lad. I’ll not ask ye what ye’ve told un till I haves my way with ye; but then,” he declared, his voice betraying a tremor of indignation, “I’ll have the talk out o’ ye, word for word!” The gray stranger was agitated, but would not look up from his aimlessly wandering hand to meet my uncle’s lowering, reproachful eyes. “Dannie,” says my uncle, continuing in gentle speech, “pass the cushion from the big chair. Thank ’e, lad. I’m not wantin’ the man t’ hurt his head.” He cast the cushion to the floor. 242 “Now, sir,” says he, gently, “an ye’ll be good enough t’ step within five-foot-ten o’ that there red cushion, I’ll knock ye down an’ have it over with.”