"Down with your arms, each of you—down that knife, down that bludgeon! That's well. Down yours—there; yours—yours. What, all down! Pile them here on the table at my feet. Dogs, what do you fear?—death? The first who refuses dies."
Mute and servile as a repentant Legion to a Cæsar's order, the knaves piled their weapons.
"Unbar the door, you two. You, orator Cutts, go in front; light a candle; open the street-door. So—so—so. Who will treat me with a parting cup—to your healths? Thank you, Sir. Fall back there; stand back—along the wall—each of you. Line my way. Ho, ho!—you harm me—you daunt me—you—you! Stop—I have a resolution to propose. Hear it, and cheer. 'That this meeting rescinds the resolution for the expulsion of General Jasper, and entreats him humbly to remain, the pride and ornament of the club!' Those who are for that resolution, hold up their hands—as many as are against it, theirs. Carried unanimously. Gentlemen, I thank you—proudest day of my life—but I'll see you hanged first; and till that sight diverts me—gentlemen, your health!"
Descending from his eminence, he passed slowly down the room unscathed, unmenaced, and, with a low mocking bow at the threshold, strode along the passage to the street-door. There, seeing Cutts with the light in his hand, he uncocked the pistol, striking off the caps, and giving it to his quondam associate, said, "Return that to its owner, with my compliments. One word—speak truth, and fear nothing. Did you send help to Darrell?"
"No; I swear it."
"I am sorry for it. I should like to have owed so trusty a friend that one favor. Go back to your pals. Understand now why I scorned to work with such rotten tools."
"A wonderful fellow, indeed!" muttered Cutts, as his eye followed the receding form of the triumphant bravo. "All London might look to itself if he had more solid brains and less liquid fire in them."
