“What do you propose to do, then?” said Jack, drinking his wine; “what do the lads intend to do? Surely you cannot think I’d let myself be taken by any of my old pals while I carry a sword by my side.” “Your sword would do very little good for you, Jack; for I could call upon the citizens here in this place, and carry you off by fair means or foul, if I liked. Here’s my warrant, as you see, ‘Arrest him, dead or alive;’ those are the colonel’s words.” “The colonel is a scoundrel,” said Jack, striking the table; “and if I ever come across him I’d—” “Hush!” said old Bates; “don’t talk so loudly; you might be heard by somebody.” “Well, go on, let’s hear the very worst. I know you’ve got me in a very tight corner.” “Yes, Jack, and one from which you cannot possibly escape, if I only say so.” “Well, no matter; a short life and a merry one,” said Jack. “Here, landlord, bring me another bottle.” “You have not paid for the last one yet, sir,” said the landlord. “What!” said Jack, indignantly, “not paid? What mean ye, sirrah?” “I don’t mean anything in particular,” said the landlord; “but I know your face well.” “What of that?” “In fact, I know it too well.” “Explain yourself. Do you wish to insult a gentleman like me, eh, knave?” “Nay, sir, I do not; but the last time you called here you had a party of friends with you; you had the best supper I could provide, and dozens of my best wine, and not a single farthing was paid for anything.” “Zounds, villain, would you insult me?” said Jack, attempting to draw his sword. “Zounds, knave, have I lost all spirit that I must be insulted thus by such a pot cleaner as thou? Out on the man; for a groat I would run thee through and through thy fat carcase.” “Silence, Jack, silence,” said Bates; “if you make any disturbance the officers will be called in, and then it will be all up with you. Put up your sword, I say.” Jack thrust his blade back into its scabbard, and growled out a fierce oath of vengeance. Bates waved off the landlord with a promise to pay all arrears, and then he said to Jack calmly, and in a whisper, “Never mind the pot-bellied publican’s account. I will make that all right. Time is precious; I haven’t many minutes to stop here.” “Well, what do you intend to do? Are you going to blow the gaff on an old pal like me?” “That depends.” “On what?” “Why this; none of us like Colonel Blood.” “I know that well enough.” “Well, one or t’other must die.” “How do you mean? I or the colonel?” “Just so; we’ve come to that agreement. Now it depends upon you which it is.” “Why, then, the colonel, of course,” said Jack, laughing, and half drunk, “the colonel, of course. I wouldn’t think of having the honour myself jet awhile, you know, Bates.” “That’s what all of us thought.” “And the lads were right. I hate Blood; yes, I hate him worse than the devil himself.” “And what do you intend to do?”