He cast a sidelong glance at Aspel. It was the first time he had ventured to suggest dishonest intentions. If they should be taken ill, he could turn it off as a jest; if taken well, he could proceed.
“I’m very sorry for you, Bones,” said Aspel, not noticing the hint, “very sorry, but what can I do? I have not a copper left beyond what I absolutely require.”
“Well, sir, I know that you can do nothing, but now that my wife and child are actually starvin’, I really don’t see the sin of helpin’ myself to a loaf at the nearest baker’s, and giving him leg-bail for it.”
“Nothing justifies stealing,” said Aspel.
“D’ee think not, sir?” said Bones. “If you saw your wife now, supposin’ you had one, at the pint of death with hunger, an’ you saw a loaf lyin’ as didn’t belong to you, would you let her die?”
Aspel thought of May Maylands.
“I don’t know,” he replied, “what I should do. All that I say is, that stealing is unjustifiable.”
The argument was stopped at this point by the entrance of a small telegraph message-boy.
Bones was startled by his sudden entrance.
“Well, good-night, sir, we’ll talk that matter over some other time,” he said quickly, pulling his wideawake well over his face as he went out, and giving the message-boy a prolonged stare.