“So, Master George, I hear you have been flogged. Nat Smith told me the Squire was in a terrible passion, and ordered him not to spare the whip: how came it all about?”
“Would you believe it, Dan, that spiteful young Quaker informed my father of our frolic,” said George, reddening with passion.
“Well, do not look so crest-fallen; I think it will be very strange if we cannot match the tell-tale, Master George.”
“Simpson, if you will but lend me your assistance to chastise him as he deserves,” said George, “I will give you that new half-sovereign Papa presented me last week.”
“Show me the money first,” returned Dan, “and then I will tell you what is to be done in the case.”
“Well, there it is,” said George, putting the money into Simpson’s hand. “If you can find out a sure method to punish young Shirley, and revenge my present disgrace, you shall have no reason to call me a bad paymaster.”
He looked anxiously up in the groom’s sordid countenance, as he finished speaking; but the stable-helper remained provokingly silent, twirling his hat in his hand, till George, losing all patience, pulled him hastily by the sleeve.
“Had I been as long in giving you my money, as you are in bestowing your advice, I should have been something in pocket.”
“Nay, Master George, if you give yourself any airs,” replied Dan, with a sneer, “I will keep the cash, and tell your Papa of your frolics; and I suppose you would not vastly relish that.”
The burning blush of shame, for a few moments, suffused the countenance of the misguided youth; he bit his lips, and remained for some time silent, till, fearing that Simpson would realize his threat, he used the most abject submission, to hinder him from betraying his wicked schemes to his father; nor would the artful servant pacify his apprehensions, till he had succeeded in frightening him out of every sixpence of pocket-money he was worth.