If the money is not there by the time the bank closes I shall apply for a warrant.
George Winter.
D’you know what that means? It means a trial, and then—and then prison.
James Ford.
I can’t do more for you than I’ve offered.
[The finality of this, the deep regret and the decision in Ford’s tone, are like a blow in the face to George Winter. He gives a sudden start, and throwing off his humbleness, flies into ungovernable passion. He whips himself into a rage as he flings the scornful invective at James Ford and ends up on the last words in a positive scream of fury.
George Winter.
Oh, it’s infamous. It’s damned hypocrisy. You don’t care if I’ve taken the money or not. You’re afraid of your own skin. And you’re jealous of me. It’s envy. I knew you envied me all the time. D’you think I’ve been taken in by you? You were a little tin god in Middlepool till I came along. You didn’t fight me like a man. You just sided with me, waiting for your chance to trip me up. You think when I’m gone you’ll have the field to yourself. Why shouldn’t you be the member as well as I? It’s mean. It’s mean. You with your damned Christianity, your parrot cries of honesty. Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!
James Ford.