“Not that,” he would add, “large or small, some one won’t cut his throat for it one day!”
He produced the old letter, and after showing it, held it behind him.
“What of the dog now?” he said.
“Na, na, I’ll not speak for that!”
“Then you won’t have it!”
But the old fellow only cackled superior.
“What’s—what’s—a pound-note a week? Is’t four pound a month?”
“Ay!” the doctor answered. “It is. That’s money, my lad!”
“Ay!”
The old man hugged himself, and rocked to and fro in an ecstasy.