"Were you, by Jove," snorted Mr. Samson, entirely unappeased. "Pity you didn't come to the same conclusion a month ago. You may be a doctor and all that; I 've no means of disprovin' what you say; but in so far as you compromised little Miss Harding, you 're a black cad. Just think that over, will you? Now, Ford, what d'you want me to do?"
There was power of a sort in Mr. Samson, the power of unalterable conviction and complete sincerity. In his Newmarket coat and checked cloth cap he thrust himself with fluency into the scene and made himself its master. He gave an impression of din, of shouting and tumult; he made himself into a clamorous crowd. Mrs. Jakes trembled under his glance and the trooper blinked servilely. Ford, concerned chiefly to have a messenger despatched without delay, bowed to the storm and gave him his instructions without protest.
"Mind, now," stipulated Mr. Samson, ere he departed on his errand; "no takin' the nigger upstairs, Ford. There 's a decency in these affairs."
The trooper nodded solemnly to the departing flap of the Newmarket tails, making their exit with a Newmarket aplomb.
"Noble ol' buck," he observed, approvingly. "Goo' style. Gift o' the gab. Here 's luck to him."
He gulped noisily in his glass, spilling the liquor on his tunic as he drank.
"Knows nigger when he sees 'im," he said. "Frien' o' yours?"
"Mr. Samson," replied Mrs. Jakes seriously, "is a very old friend."
"Goblessim," said the trooper. "Less 'ave anurr."
Kamis and Ford regarded one another as Mr. Samson left them and both were a little embarrassed. Plain speaking is always a brutality, since it sets every man on his defense.