"Have you done?" said Mr. Rigg, quietly, without looking away from the

window.

"Yes, I've done," said Raffles, taking hold of his hat which stood

before him on the table, and giving it a sort of oratorical push.

"Then just listen to me. The more you say anything, the less I shall

believe it. The more you want me to do a thing, the more reason I

shall have for never doing it. Do you think I mean to forget your

kicking me when I was a lad, and eating all the best victual away from

me and my mother? Do you think I forget your always coming home to

sell and pocket everything, and going off again leaving us in the

lurch? I should be glad to see you whipped at the cart-tail. My

mother was a fool to you: she'd no right to give me a father-in-law,

and she's been punished for it. She shall have her weekly allowance

paid and no more: and that shall be stopped if you dare to come on to

these premises again, or to come into this country after me again. The

next time you show yourself inside the gates here, you shall be driven

off with the dogs and the wagoner's whip."

As Rigg pronounced the last words he turned round and looked at Raffles

with his prominent frozen eyes. The contrast was as striking as it

could have been eighteen years before, when Rigg was a most unengaging

kickable boy, and Raffles was the rather thick-set Adonis of bar-rooms

and back-parlors. But the advantage now was on the side of Rigg, and

auditors of this conversation might probably have expected that Raffles

would retire with the air of a defeated dog. Not at all. He made a

grimace which was habitual with him whenever he was "out" in a game;

then subsided into a laugh, and drew a brandy-flask from his pocket.

"Come, Josh," he said, in a cajoling tone, "give us a spoonful of

brandy, and a sovereign to pay the way back, and I'll go. Honor

bright! I'll go like a bullet, _by_ Jove!"

"Mind," said Rigg, drawing out a bunch of keys, "if I ever see you

again, I shan't speak to you. I don't own you any more than if I saw a

crow; and if you want to own me you'll get nothing by it but a

character for being what you are--a spiteful, brassy, bullying rogue."

"That's a pity, now, Josh," said Raffles, affecting to scratch his head

and wrinkle his brows upward as if he were nonplussed. "I'm very fond

of you; _by_ Jove, I am! There's nothing I like better than plaguing

you--you're so like your mother, and I must do without it. But the

brandy and the sovereign's a bargain."




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