“Not a rap!” exclaimed Mr.. Sloman, peevishly; “but won’t you return the hundred?”
Mr. Brown answered only by a look, but that look was an expressive one. It said, or seemed to say, in the elegant parlance ol the present time, “Don’t you wish you may get it?”
“I want to be off,” observed the lawyer, seeing that all chance of restitution was hopeless, “and I don’t like to be stared at by those body-snatchers in the parlour. The scoundrels never forget a man; and, as I attend the Old Bailey professionally, they might remember me on their trial, and call upon me to speak to character.”
“Stop, my dear friend, a minute where you are, and I’ll do the business effectually. Do take a little brandy and water before you start. It’s not to every body I give that Cognac,” and the host left Mr. Sloman to refresh himself before he should set out upon his return homewards.
The hunchback and his companions were seated at a table in the lower room, when Mr. Brown glided softly in. They had drunk freely, for the failure of the night seemed to have occasioned a general annoyance.
“By Heaven!” said the larger of the Jews, “I never, in the ring itself, received such punishment. And then the risk—and nothing for it. The attempt at murder is now a hanging matter. There’s law for ye! Well, I suppose that chap Sloman will make us some amends, and come down handsome, as he should do, for our being regularly served out in trying to oblige him.”
“You’ll never find grace or gratitude in a lawyer,” returned the hunchback.
“If he does not stump up, why I say he has no conscience,” observed the smasher, “but here is Mister Brown.”
“What are we to have for this night’s trouble?” inquired the stouter Jew.
“Sloman won’t stand a rap, because the thing’s a failure. I tried him hard; but he won’t bleed, nor come down with a single flimsey; and yet I’d give a hundred for what he has in the side-pocket of his coat; ay, and gain another by the bargain.”