He thought over these things as he sat before the fire entirely engrossed by love for Ellen and hate for Joshua. The Lascar had helped himself to the spirits, and as Mr. Fewster sat studying the fire, he sat studying his host. That it was a study that interested him and pleased him was evident from the satisfied expression in his face, and from the satisfied manner in which he rubbed his hands gently over one another.
"Well, you dog!" exclaimed Mr. Fewster insolently.
"Well, master?" replied the Lascar meekly.
The Master took another drink of rum, and the Dog followed suit. The Master regarded the Dog with a contemptuous assumption of superiority. The Dog regarded the Master with becoming humbleness. But the Dog had the best of it, although he did cast down his eyes.
"What would you do to Joshua Marvel if you had him here, with no one by?"
The Lascar, who had been playing idly with the knife with which he had cut his supper, raised it, and with a fierce action struck at the air. Then, springing to his feet, he threw aside his chair, and kneeling on the ground, made motions with his fingers as if he were strangling an enemy.
"H-m!" exclaimed Mr. Fewster, looking at the upturned face, blazing with vindictiveness, that fronted his. "Dangerous."
"That's my business. I'll risk the danger of it. See you--shall I speak plainly?"
"This girl that you love worships the man that you and I hate"--
"Say that _you_ hate, you dog," interrupted Mr. Fewster. "I'll have no partnership. I am master."
"I ask your pardon, master. The girl that you love worships the man that I hate. She is waiting for him to come home; so am I. I have sworn death to him. When he comes home, the girl that you love will have no eyes for any one but him. What chance will you have with her then?"
"Stop. You are too fast. Speak of yourself and of them without reference to me. Don't iterate with your damnable tongue about the girl that _I_ love. The girl that I love, I'll have"--
"So you shall, master, if I can help you."
"When I want your help, I'll ask for it. Now go on with your story, and heed my caution."
With ready wit the Lascar fell into Mr. Fewster's humor.
"This girl that I speak of--as pretty a picture of flesh and blood as eyes ever saw--is loved by a gentleman who in a sort of way has lowered himself to think of her. But the gentleman has made up his mind to have her, and when a gentleman makes up his mind, who shall stop him? He goes one night to the house where this pretty girl lives--I shouldn't wonder if the very flower that the gentleman wore in his button-hole wasn't intended for her"--