‘Under the circumstances,’ replied Zero, ‘I scarce see my way to refuse your offer. Your expressions may pain, they cannot surprise me; I am aware our point of view requires a little training, a little moral hygiene, if I may so express it; and one of the points that has always charmed me in your character is this delightful frankness. As for the small advance, it shall be remitted you from Philadelphia.’
‘Dear fellow, you do not understand,’ returned the plotter. ‘I shall now be received with fresh confidence by my superiors; and my experiments will be no longer hampered by pitiful conditions of the purse.’
‘What I am now about, sir, is a crime,’ replied Somerset; ‘and were you to roll in wealth like Vanderbilt, I should scorn to be reimbursed of money I had so scandalously misapplied. Take it, and keep it. By George, sir, three days of you have transformed me to an ancient Roman.’
With these words, Somerset hailed a passing hansom; and the pair were driven rapidly to the railway terminus. There, an oath having been exacted, the money changed hands.
‘And now,’ said Somerset, ‘I have bought back my honour with every penny I possess. And I thank God, though there is nothing before me but starvation, I am free from all entanglement with Mr. Zero Pumpernickel Jones.’
‘To starve?’ cried Zero. ‘Dear fellow, I cannot endure the thought.’
‘Take your ticket,’ reiterated the young man.
‘Well,’ said the plotter, as he returned, ticket in hand, ‘your attitude is so strange and painful, that I scarce know if I should ask you to shake hands.’
‘As a man, no,’ replied Somerset; ‘but I have no objection to shake hands with you, as I might with a pump-well that ran poison or bell-fire.’
‘This is a very cold parting,’ sighed the dynamiter; and still followed by Somerset, he began to descend the platform. This was now bustling with passengers; the train for Liverpool was just about to start, another had but recently arrived; and the double tide made movement difficult. As the pair reached the neighbourhood of the bookstall, however, they came into an open space; and here the attention of the plotter was attracted by a _Standard_ broadside bearing the words: ‘Second Edition: Explosion in Golden Square.’ His eye lighted; groping in his pocket for the necessary coin, he sprang forward—his bag knocked sharply on the corner of the stall—and instantly, with a formidable report, the dynamite exploded. When the smoke cleared away the stall was seen much shattered, and the stall keeper running forth in terror from the ruins; but of the Irish patriot or the Gladstone bag no adequate remains were to be found.