“I tell you frankly, Davis,” said he, with the daring of despair, “it wouldn't do. It would spoil all. First and foremost, Lackington would never forgive me for having confided this secret to any one. He'd say, and not unfairly either, 'What has Davis to do with this? It's not the kind of case he is accustomed to deal with; his counsel could n't possibly be essential here.' _He_ does n't know,” added he, rapidly, “your consummate knowledge of the world; _he_ hasn't seen, as I have, how keenly you read every fellow that comes before you.” “We start on Monday,” said Grog, abruptly, as he threw the end of his cigar into the fire; “so stir yourself, and see about the bills.” Beecher arose and walked the room with hurried strides, his brow growing darker and his face more menacing at every moment. “Look here, Davis,” cried he, turning suddenly round and facing the other, “you assume to treat me as if I was a--schoolboy;” and it was evident that he had intended a stronger word, but had not courage to utter it, for Davis's wicked eyes were upon him, and a bitter grin of irony was already on Grog's mouth as he said,-- “Did you ever try a round with _me_ without getting the worst of it? Do you remember any time where you came well out of it? You 've been mauled once or twice somewhat roughly, but with the gloves on,--always with the gloves on. Now, take my advice, and don't drive me to take them off,--don't! You never felt my knuckles yet,--and, by the Lord Harry, if you had, you'd not call out 'Encore.'” “You just want to bully me,” said Beecher, in a whimpering tone. “Bully you,--bully _you!_” said Davis, and his features put on a look of the most intense scorn as he spoke. “Egad!” cried he, with an insolent laugh, “you know very little about either of us.” “I'd rather you'd do your worst at once than keep threatening me in this fashion.” “No, you would n't; no--no--nothing of the kind,” said Davis, with a mockery of gentleness in his voice and manner. “May I be hanged if I would not!” cried Beecher, passionately. “It ain't hanging now,--they 've made it transportation,” said Davis, with a grin; “and them as has tried it says the old way was easiest.” And in the slang style of the last words there was a terrible significance,--it was as though a voice from the felons' dock was uttering a word of warning. Such was the effect on Beecher that he sank slowly down into a seat, silent and powerless.