“Why, I'd roust out Ikey Pope. He's the man to beat up your game.”
“What! the fellow who answers without unclosing his eyelids?”
“Why, to say the truth, he don't much like daylight. Nobody sees the colour of his eye, I reckon, above once a week; but, for all that, there's few can match him. He's more like a dog than a Christian. He'll find what every body else has lost; but upon what principle he works, I can't say: I think he does it all by instinct.”
“Let us send him out at once, then.”
“Not so fast, sir:—Ikey's next kin to a brute, and must be treated accordingly. We must manage him.”
“Well, you know him, and—”
“Yes, and he knows me: I have condescended to play so many tricks with him, that he won't trust me: but he'll believe you.”
“And how shall I enlist him in my service? I stand on thorns:—for Heaven's sake be speedy.”
“Why, if you only tell him he has a good leg for a boot, and promise him an old pair of Hessians, he's your humble servant to command; for, ugly as he is, he's so proud of his leg, that—”
“Call him;—call him, at once.”