“This gentleman has eaten nothing for four days.”
“Indeed,” replied Johnny, without looking up, or intermitting his sneaking, restless walk from one corner of the room to the other.
“I said four days, d’ye hear? Four days. Bring him tea immediately, strong tea, and then make some good beef-soup. I know you have bought some tea and rum and sugar. The tea must be ready directly, the soup in an hour at farthest, d’ye understand? And then I want some whisky for myself, and a beefsteak and potatoes. Now, tell all that to your Sambo.”
Johnny did not seem to hear, but continued his walk, creeping along with noiseless step, and each time that he turned, giving a sort of spring like a cat or a panther.
“I’ve money, Johnny,” said my guide. “Money, man, d’ye hear?” And so saying, he produced a tolerably full purse.
For the first time Johnny raised his head, gave an indefinable glance at the purse, and then, springing forward, fixed his small, cunning eyes upon those of my guide, whilst a smile of strange meaning spread over his repulsive features.
The two men stood for the space of a minute, staring at each other, without uttering a word. An infernal grin distended Johnny’s coarse mouth from ear to ear. My guide gasped for breath.
“I’ve money,” cried he at last, striking the butt of his rifle violently on the ground. “D’ye understand, Johnny? Money; and a rifle too, if needs be.”
He stepped to the table and filled another glass of raw spirits, which disappeared like the preceding one. Whilst he drank, Johnny stole out of the room so softly that my companion was only made aware of his departure by the noise of the wooden latch. He then came up to me, took me in his arms without saying a word, and carrying me to the bed, laid me gently down upon it.
“You make yourself at home,” snarled Johnny, who just then came in again.