"Ah!" said Paul, his face lighting up at the inviting picture, and bending forward with extended palm to receive the largess at once.
"I con-sent!"
"Consent to what?"
"Take ze money."
"Of course you will, my fine fellow; I know that. And after you have got rid of it all you will come back to me for more."
"Promise to come no more."
"Of course you do! But you will come all the same. The promise don't count after the money is spent. I have not forgot last time."
Paul smiled like a man who receives a compliment. Veracity was not his point of honour. Rather, it was smartness; and to have "done" this rich and masterful white man seemed an achievement to be proud of. He stroked his beardless cheeks with a simper of gratified vanity, and fairly laughed at last, so tickled was he by the recollection of his cleverness.
"No! my fine fellow, you don't come it over me again like that!--no use supposing it. But I'll tell you what I will do, for I like you, you see, Paul; though I know you're a rascal. I have been thinking that if that child were to die it would be bad for you. You could not try it on with me any more by threatening to carry the kid home to its people, and so your pension would come to an end, and you'd have to go to work. How would you like that, Paul, you idle dog, after all these years? So I have been thinking that if that were to happen--the kid's death, you know--and you could bring me some proof, I would give you a lump sum and have done with you."
"If the papoose die?"