“Maybe you’ll find it so, ecod! As for leaving things unsaid, lemme tell you, sir, that’s a policy I recommend to you in future, whenever you feel inclined to try your wit upon me. If a witty thing, as you consider it, comes into your head to say against me, leave it unsaid. That’s my commands, sir, and I look to see ’em obeyed.”
“Commands? Upon my soul, Mr. Thornby,—pardon my smiling,—but you are exceedingly amusing.”
“Smile your bellyfull; you may laugh, too: we’ll see which on us laughs last. Ecod, we’ll see that! Try some of your town wit upon me the next time we meet in company! Try it, and see what happens.”
“Can’t you spare my curiosity the suspense by telling me now?”
“Yes, I can. This is what’ll happen:—I’ll answer you back by asking what you think of a man who robs the dead.”
“Robs the dead?” quietly repeated Foxwell, puzzled.
“Ay, a dead body, in some such place as Covent Garden, for example.—Eh, that touches you, does it?”
Foxwell’s face had indeed undergone a change: for an instant he was quite pale and staring. But he recovered his outward equanimity.
“Please explain yourself,” he said, with composure.
“A word to the wise is enough, sir. If ever again you try to put me down afore company, or dare to take first place o’ me anywheres, I’ll tell the world who got Lord Hilby’s money that night in Covent Garden.”