“Not much fear of that, if he is on the turf,” Sir Cumberleigh replied, with a wink at me; “see a good bit of the world there, don’t you, Mr. Johnson?” I nodded my head, and turned away; for I never was much of an actor, and now I could not trust my voice for words. But Sir Cumberleigh was as full of his own wrongs, as I was of mine in a different way. “I know a thing or two,” he went on, becoming more determined, as we feigned to check him, “that would stop his little tricks for a long time to come. He would have to be off to the Continent again, if I were to treat him as he deserves.” “Then don’t do it, Pots. Forgive and forget; that’s the proper tip nowadays. Who doesn’t try to let you in? It is no concern of mine—but let us talk of something else. I dare say he is a good fellow, after all.” “Is he?” cried Sir Cumberleigh, working himself up; “I may have done a thing or two, in my time. But I never harmed man or woman, out of pure spite. Every man must consider his own interest, and try to hurt no one, when it does not help himself. That is my idea of the rule of life. But it is not Master Downy’s, I can tell you that.” “Never mind, old fellow. Let us drink his good health;” Sam lifted his glass, but our host set down his. “Whenever I hear a poor fellow run down, I begin to think of all that is good in him. And I don’t believe Downy would hurt any one, unless he was obliged to do it on his own account. He made a pot of money, and he dropped a bit of yours. But you must not score against him for a little thing like that.” “It is useless to talk to you, Henderson. You have not been hit, and you may whistle over it. But I’ll just ask Mr. Johnson what he thinks, for I can see that he is a man of proper feeling. Now what should you say, Mr. Johnson, of a fellow, who wanted to marry a girl who did not like him, because he thought she had a lot of money; and then when she married a very quiet man, who took her without a halfpenny, could not let them be happy with one another, but got up some infernal scheme to separate them?” “I should say he was a scoundrel too bad to be hanged;” I answered with warmth unaffected; and I was going to say more, but Sam checked me with a glance. “Oh come, no fellow would ever do such a thing as that;” he spoke with contemptuous disbelief. “Any man must be a fool, who would get into such a scrape for nothing.” “Then Downy Bulwrag is a fool, as well as what you called him, Mr. Johnson. I could tell you the story, if I chose; or at least I could tell you a part of it. But it would not interest you; and it is a long in and out of rascality. Well, I won’t say any more about it; and I don’t know how he managed it. But he will have a score to settle about that, some day.” “That he will, and a bitter one;” I began, with hands clenched, and heart throbbing; but Sam kicked me under the table, and whispered, while Sir Cumberleigh was reaching for the other bottle—