"Well now, Affidavy, I'm an honest feller,—as you say, but I scorn being a fool. I know what's what; and I wish somebody would chuck me ten guineas over the wall-gate; I wouldn't ask him whether he was a tory or true American; for, you see, a guinea's a guinea, and clean stuff, no matter what pocket it comes from. But then, squire, as to opening the gate for such a small matter, he, he, he! why, I'm too honest for that. I'm a poor man, but, as I said, he, he, he! I scorn being a fool; and so, he, he, he! as you and me is friends, Affidavy, why, if the man was to chuck about fifty more to the back of 'em, why, he, he, he! I don't know what might become of my prisoners."
"Fifty guineas!" cried Affidavy, grinning in return, but with a sort of scorn; "that's putting your honesty at a higher price than your soul, for which, botheration, I would not give half the money."
"He, he!" said Lingo, slapping his boon companion on the knee, and nodding and winking in a manner meant to be exceedingly significant; "but come now, what'll they give? for I'll stand to reason."
"Give! who give?" said Affidavy, affecting surprise. "Oh! the tories, you mean. Tush, how do I know? Perhaps you might get twelve or thirteen guineas out of them; and that's a good round sum."
"He, he, he!" said Lingo; "but what do you get yourself?"
"I!" said Affidavy, again alarmed. His trepidation was however driven to flight by another fit of laughter, in which Lingo's honest countenance indicated the most expressive innocence of all suspicion.
"Ods bobs!" said he, "I wouldn't sell a prisoner under fifty pounds; and if they'd talk to me about that, he, he, he!"—and here he could scarce proceed for laughing: "No, no; if you'll strike a bargain for me for fifty pounds, in hard money, why then, he, he! they may take my prisoners, and hang them, if they will. But it's all one; there's no such luck for poor Bob Lingo: honesty won't fetch any thing worth having now-a-days. Fifty guineas! a small sum: why one could get more for letting a tory in jail. But, he, he, he! it's all one to Bob Lingo. I'm 'mazing sleepy, squire! But I know what'll keep me awake, he, he! I've got a barrel of wonderful fine cherry bounce; and, he, he! I'll go fetch a pitcher of it, and we'll make a night of it, I warrant me."
With these words, he left the apartment.
"Bravissimo!" said the attorney, as soon as he had departed; "I'll cheat the unconscionable rascal out of every penny. He's as drunk as a pig already."
He stole to the door, peeped out, and then, satisfied that Lingo was beyond observation, proceeded to pour into a glass, from a little vial he drew from his pocket, a goodly dose of laudanum, to which he forthwith added sugar and brandy, muttering to himself all the while, "Here's a dose for the dog will make him sleep like a wood-chuck at Christmas; but 'twont hurt him. Botheration, I'm sleepy myself, the lord knows: but two thousand guineas! Two thousand devils! I'm a made man, even if the young ass repents his bargain and makes me 'bate one half!—Give him fifty guineas! pearls before swine! He'll sleep like a top; and as for Hanschen, why he's fast already——Devils! what's that?—Oh, the drunken fool has tumbled over a chair, and smashed the pitcher!—Could hear the clink and clatter together. Am somewhat drunk myself; but a little does me good."