Bred in the Bone; Or, Like Father, Like Son: A NovelPayn, James
General
Bred in the Bone; Or, Like Father, Like Son: A Novel
Payn, James
English fiction
"Beauty in distress mollifies the court, does it?" inquired Richard,
willing to be won from his own wretchedness by talk even with a man like
this.
"Mollifies!--yes, it makes a molly of every body. I have known a judge
shed tears about it, which he is not bound to do unless he has the black
cap on--that always set him going like an onion. Why, I've seen even an
attorney use his pocket-handkerchief because of a pretty face in
trouble; but then she was his client, to be sure. Talking of attorneys,
you'll have Weasel, of course?"
Richard nodded an affirmative.
"Quite right. I should have him myself, if there was a shadow of a
chance; but, as it is, it's throwing good money out o' winder. I wish
you better luck, young gentleman, than mine is like to be; not that you
want luck, of course, but only justice."
Richard did not relish this tone of banter, and he showed it in his
look.
"Come, come," said the other, good-humoredly, "it is a pity to curdle
such a handsome face as yours with sour thoughts. Let us be friends, for
you may be glad of even a friend like me some dirty day."
"It is very likely," answered Richard, bitterly. "I see no fine days
ahead, nor yet fine friends."
"I hope you will see both," answered the other, frankly. "The first time
one finds one's self provided for so extra careful as this," with a
glance at the iron bars across the low-arched windows, "the prospect
always does seem dark. But one learns to look upon the bright side at
last. Is the figure very heavy that you're in for? Excuse my country
manners: I don't mean to be rude, nor do I ask the question from mere
curiosity; but you don't look like one to have come here for a mere
trifle."
"The amount in question is two thousand pounds."
"No whistling there!" cried the warder, peremptorily, for the "old hand"
had not been able to repress an expression of emotion at this
announcement. He looked at Richard with an air of self-complacency, such
as a gentleman of the middle classes exhibits on suddenly discovering
that he has been in familiar converse with a person of title, or a small
trader on being brought into unexpected connection with a merchant
prince. The gigantic character of the "operation" had invested this
young man with an increased interest in the stranger's eye.
"That's a great beginning," said he, admiringly, "and could scarcely
have happened with a poor devil like me. One requires to be born a
gentleman to have such opportunities. Now, I don't mind telling _you_"
here he sank his voice to a whisper, and looked cautiously about him,
"that I was forty years of age before I ever got such a haul as yours.
I've done better since, but it's been up-hill work, for all that."
"It doesn't seem to have been very hard work," said Richard, with a
meaning glance at the other's hand.
"Well, no, I can't say as it's been hard; a neat touch is what is wanted
in my profession."
"Why, you're not a pick--" Richard hesitated from motives of delicacy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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