"You are a clever dog, you!" said Mr. Fewster, half in anger, half in admiration.
"Thank you, master. With the flower in his button-hole the gentleman goes to the house where his pretty girl lives, and there he spends the evening, and hears read, I dare say, some letters, which she has received from his rival, who is a sailor--I only speak from fancy, master; set me right if you can."
"How can I set you right when I know nothing about it, you dog, except by saying that I shouldn't think it likely _she_ received any letters?"
"Thank you, master. My fancy was wrong, I've no doubt. The gentleman, then, is obliged to listen to some letters which have been received from abroad, and is obliged to listen to affectionate words uttered by the girl he loves for his rival far away--mind, master, I don't know this, I only suspect it--and he sees, too, in her face, that when her sailor-boy comes home, she will open her arms to his rival, to his enemy, whom he hates, and would like to see put out of the way."
"I have seen it in his face; I have heard it in his voice. I happened to see the gentleman come out of his sweetheart's house one rainy night, not long ago; and I happened to hear the gentleman mutter that he would give money if that sailor-lover was drowned."
"If were the gentleman, and you told me this to my face, I should say that you lied."
"Of course you would; but what should you know of it? Still, master, confess that the story is a likely one as far as it has gone."
"There is more of it to come, then?" asked Mr. Fewster, who had turned his back so that the Lascar should not see his face.
"There is more of it to come. But say, first, it is a likely story as far as I have told it," said the Lascar a little doggedly.
"It is likely enough. I have heard stories more strange."
"Where did I leave off? Oh! about my hearing this gentleman say, as he stood bareheaded in the rain, that he wished his rival were dead. Now that was a fortunate hearing for me. Not that I should take advantage of what I heard; not that I should go to the pretty girl's brother, and then tell him what I had heard the gentleman say about his sailor-friend; not that I should go to the pretty girl herself and say, 'Beware of the gentleman; he means mischief; if he can ruin your lover he will.' That would be a mean thing to do; for it would upset the gentleman's chances with the girl that he loves. No; I should go to the gentleman and say, 'I hate this absent lover, and any thing that I could do to make him suffer, I would do cheerfully. You would do the same. But you are a gentleman, and I am a dog. You mustn't be seen in the matter. What you want done do through me. Never mind how mean it is, how dirty it is; do it through me. And all the return I want for it is enough to buy food and shelter, and perhaps a drop of grog and a bit of tobacco.' That wouldn't be much to ask in return for what I may be able to do for him."