'Hello!' shouted Nixon as he caught sight of Graeme. 'Here you are!'
passing him a bottle. 'You're a knocker, a double-handed front door
knocker. You polished off old whisky-soak here, old demijohn,' pointing
to Slavin, 'and I'll lay five to one we can lick any blankety blank
thieves in the crowd,' and he held up a roll of bills.
But Graeme proposed that he should give the hornpipe again, and the
floor was cleared at once, for Nixon's hornpipe was very popular, and
tonight, of course, was in high favour. In the midst of his dance Nixon
stopped short, his arms dropped to his side, his face had a look of
fear, of horror.
There, before him, in his riding-cloak and boots, with his whip in his
hand as he had come from his ride, stood Mr. Craig. His face was pallid,
and his dark eyes were blazing with fierce light. As Nixon stopped,
Craig stepped forward to him, and sweeping his eyes round upon the
circle he said in tones intense with scorn--
'You cowards! You get a man where he's weak! Cowards! you'd damn his
soul for his money!'
There was dead silence, and Craig, lifting his hat, said solemnly--
'May God forgive you this night's work!'
Then, turning to Nixon, and throwing his arm over his shoulder, he said
in a voice broken and husky--
'Come on, Nixon! we'll go!'
Idaho made a motion as if to stop him, but Graeme stepped quickly
foreword and said sharply, 'Make way there, can't you?' and the crowd
fell back and we four passed through, Nixon walking as in a dream, with
Craig's arm about him.
Pages:
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162