“There he is, disguised as a prize bull for the King of Belgium. Nobody suspects him,--nobody could suspect him, he 's so well got up, horns and all. Got him on board in the dark in a large roomy box, clap posters to it on the other side, and 'tool' him along to Brussels. That's what I call business! Now, if you wait a week or two, you can lay on him as deep as you like. We'll let the Belgians 'in,' before we 've done with them. We run him under the name of 'Klepper;' don't forget it,--Klepper!” “I've already told you I 'm unworthy of such a confidence; you only risk yourself when you impart a secret to indiscretion like mine.” “You'd not blow us?” cried Annesley, in terror. “The best security against my doing so accidentally is that I may be hundreds of miles away before your races come off.” For a minute or two Beecher's misery was extreme. He saw how his rashness had carried him away to a foolish act of good-nature, and had not even reaped thanks for his generosity. What would he not have given to recall his words?--what would he not have done to obliterate their impression? At last a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and he said,-- “There are two of us in 'the lay,' and my 'pal' is the readiest pistol in Europe.” “I 'll not provoke any display of his skill, depend on 't,” said Conway, controlling, as well as he could, the inclination to laugh out. “He'd tumble you over like winking if you sold him. He 'd make it as short work with myself if he suspected me.” “I'd rather have a quieter sort of colleague,” said Conway, dryly. “Oh! but he's a rare one to 'work the oracle.' Solomon was a wise man--” “What infernal balderdash are you at with Solomon and Samson, there?” shouted out Grog Davis, who had just been looking after the horse-box in the bow. “Come down below, and have a glass of brandy-and-water.” “I 'll stay where I am,” said Beecher, sulkily, and walked away in dudgeon from the spot. “I think I recognize your friend's voice,” said Conway, when Beecher next joined him. “If I 'm right, it's a fellow I 've an old grudge against.” “Don't have it out, then,--that 's all,” broke in Beecher, hastily. “I 'd just as soon go into a cage and dispute a bone with one of Van Amburgh's tigers, as I 'd 'bring _him_ to book.'” “Make your mind easy about that,” said Conway. “I never go in search of old scores. I would only say, don't leave yourself more in his power than you can easily escape from. As for myself, it's very unlikely I shall ever see him again.” “I wish you'd given up the Crimea,” said Beecher, who, by one of the strange caprices of his strange nature, began to feel a sort of liking for Conway.