“Sit down,” said Gashford, with less gruffness than usual, when his visitor entered his hut. “What d’ye want wi’ me?”
Flinders addressed himself at once to the subject of his mission, and became quite eloquent as he touched on the grandeur of the sum offered, the liberality of the offerers, and the ease with which the whole thing might be accomplished. A very faint smile rested on Gashford’s face as he proceeded, but by no other sign did he betray his thoughts until his petitioner had concluded.
“So you want to buy him off?” said Gashford, the smile expanding to a broad grin.
“If yer honour had bin born a judge an’ sot on the bench since iver ye was a small spalpeen, ye couldn’t have hit it off more nately. That’s just what we want—to buy him off. It’s a purty little commercial transaction—a man’s life for five hundred pound; an’, sure it’s a good price to give too, consitherin’ how poor we all are, an what a dale o’ sweatin’ work we’ve got to do to git the goold.”
“But suppose I won’t sell,” said Gashford, “what then?”
“Fair, then, I’ll blow your brains out” thought the Irishman, his fingers tingling with a desire to grasp the loaded revolver that lay in his pocket, but he had the wisdom to restrain himself and to say, “Och! sor, sure ye’ll niver refuse such a nat’ral request. An’ we don’t ask ye to help us. Only to hand me the kay o’ the prison, remove the sintry, an’ then go quietly to yer bed wid five hundred pound in goold benathe yar hid to drame on.”
To add weight to his proposal he drew forth the bag of nuggets from one of his capacious coat pockets and held it up to view.
“It’s not enough,” said Gashford, with a stern gruffness of tone and look which sank the petitioner’s hopes below zero.
“Ah! then, Muster Gashford,” said Flinders, with the deepest pathos, “it’s yer own mother would plade wid ye for the poor boy’s life, av she was here—think o’ that. Sure he’s young and inexparienced, an’ it’s the first offince he’s iver committed—”
“No, not the first” interrupted Gashford.