"Now, Barry," exclaimed Mr. Smivvle, "do be calm, Mr. Beverley only

wants to help you--er--that is, in a friendly way, of course, and I

'm sure--"

"Damn his help! I'd rather die in the g-gutter than ask help or

charity of any one."

"Yes, yes--of course, my dear fellow! But you're so touchy, Barry,

so infernally proud, my dear boy. Mr. Beverley merely wishes to--"

"Be honored with your friendship," said Barnabas with his ingenuous

smile.

"Why then, Dig," says his youthful Mightiness, beginning to relent,

"pray beg Mr. Bev'ley's pardon for me again, and 'sure him the honor

is mine."

"And I would have you trust me also," Barnabas pursued.

"Trust you?" repeated Barrymaine with a sudden laugh. "Gad, yes,

willingly! Only it happens I've n-noth-ing left to trust you with,

--no, not enough to pay the Spanswick."

"And yet, if you will, you may be free," said Barnabas the persistent.

"Free! He's at it again, Dig."

"Believe me it is my earnest desire to help you,--to--"

"Help me, sir! a stranger! by heaven,--no! A stranger, damme!"

"Let us say your friend."

"I tell you, sir," said Barrymaine, starting up unsteadily,

"I seek no man's aid--s-scorn it! I'm not one to weep out my

misfortunes to strangers. Damme, I'm man enough to manage my own

affairs, what's left of 'em. I want nobody's accursed pity

either--pah!" and he made a gesture of repudiation so fierce that he

staggered and recovered himself only by clutching at Mr. Smivvle's

ready arm. "The Past, sir," said he, supporting himself by that

trusty arm, "the Past is done with, and the F-Future I'll face alone,

as I have done all along, eh, Dig?"

"But surely--"

"Ay, surely, sir, I'm no object of charity whining for alms, no, by

Gad! I--I'm--Dig, push the brandy!"

"If you would but listen--" Barnabas began again.

"Not--not a word. Why should I? Past's dead, and damn the Future. Dig,

pass the brandy."

"And I tell you," said Barnabas, "that in the future are hope and

the chance of a new life, once you are free of Gaunt."

"Free of Gaunt! Hark to that, Dig. Must be dev'lish drunk to talk

such cursed f-folly! Why, I tell you again," he cried in rising

passion, "that I couldn't get free of Gaunt's talons even if I had

the money, and mine's all gone long ago, and half Cleone's beside,

--her Guardian's tied up the rest. She can't touch another penny

without his consent, damn him!--so I'm done. The future? In the

future is a debtor's prison that opens for me whenever Jasper Gaunt

says the word. Hope? There can be no hope for me till Jasper Gaunt's

dead and shrieking in hell-fire."

"But your debts shall be paid,--if you will."




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