"Threaten Cap'en Nat?" exclaimed Dan, glaring contempt, and spitting it. "Oh yes, I see myself! Cap'en Nat ain't that sort o' mug. I'm as 'ard as most, but I ain't 'ard enough for a job like that: or soft enough, for that's what I'd be to try it on. Lor' lumme! Go an' ask any man up the Highway to face Cap'en Nat, an' threaten him! Ask the biggest an' toughest of 'em. Ask Jim Crute, with his ear like a blue-bag, that he chucked out o' the bar like a kitten, last week! 'Cap'en Nat,' says I, 'if you don't gimme eight hundred quid, I'll hit you a crack!' Mighty fine plan that! That 'ud get it, wouldn't it? Ah, it 'ud get something!" "I didn't say that sort of threat, you fool! You've got no sense for anything but bashing. There's the evidence that 'ud hang him; go an' tell him that, and say he _shall_ swing for it, if he doesn't hand over!" Dan stared long and thoughtfully. Then his lip curled again. "Pooh!" he said. "I'm a fool, am I? O! Anyhow, whether I am or not, I'm a fool's brother. Threaten Cap'en Nat with the evidence, says you! What evidence? The evidence what he's got in his own hands! S'pose I go, like a mug, an' do it. Fust thing he does, after he's kicked me out, is to chuck the pocket-book an' the likeness on the fire, an' the watch in the river. Then he changes the notes, or sells 'em abroad, an' how do we stand then? Why, you're a bigger fool than I thought you was!... What's that?" It was nothing but a gun on the marsh, where a cockney sportsman was out after anything he could hit. But Dan Ogle's nerves were alert, and throughout the conversation he had not relaxed his watch toward London; so that the shot behind disturbed him enough to break the talk. "We've been here long enough," he said. "You hook it. I'll see about Cap'en Nat. Your way's no good. I'll try another, an' if that don't come off--well, then you can hang him if you like, an' welcome. But now hook it, an' shut your mouth till I've had my go. 'Nough said. Don't go back the way you come." CHAPTER XX STEPHEN'S TALE My father's death wrought in Grandfather Nat a change that awed me. He looked older and paler--even smaller. He talked less to me, but began, I fancied, to talk to himself. Withal, his manner was kinder than before, if that were possible; though it was with a sad kindness that distressed and troubled me. More than once I woke at night with candle-light on my face, and found him gazing down at me with a grave doubt in his eyes; whereupon he would say nothing, but pat my cheek, and turn away.