’You did not do badly yourself.  When I first reached Nobble you had the name of more money than I ever made.’

‘Who’s got it now?  Eh, Caldigate! who’s got my money now?’

‘It would take a clever man to tell that.’

’It don’t take much cleverness for me to tell who has got more of it nor anybody else, and it don’t take much cleverness for me to tell that I ain’t got none of it left myself;--none of it, Caldigate.  Not a d----- hundred pounds!’ This he said with terrible energy.

‘I’m sorry it’s so bad as that with you, Crinkett.’

’Yes;—­you is sorry, I daresay.  You’ve acted sorry in all you said and done since I got taken in last by that ——­ mine;—­haven’t you?  Well;—­I have got just a few hundreds; what I could scrape together to bring me and a few others as might be wanted over to England.  There’s Jack Adamson with me and ——­ just two more.  They may be wanted, squire.’

The attack now was being commenced, and how was he to repel it, or to answer it?  Only on one ground had he received from Robert Bolton a decided opinion.  Under no circumstances was he to give money to these persons.  Were he to be guilty of that weakness he would have delivered himself over into their hands.  And not only did he put implicit trust in the sagacity of Robert Bolton, but he himself knew enough of the world’s opinion on such a matter to be aware that a man who has allowed himself to be frightened out of money is supposed to have acknowledged some terrible delinquency.  He had been very clear in his mind when that letter came from Euphemia Smith that he would not now make any rebate.  Till that attack had come, it might have been open to him to be generous;—­but not now.  And yet when this man spoke of his own loss, and reminded him of his wealth;—­when Crinkett threw it in his teeth that by a happy chance he had feathered his nest with the spoils taken from the wretched man himself,—­then he wished that it was in his power to give back something.

‘Is that said as a threat?’ he asked, looking round on his companion, and resolving that he would be brave.

‘That’s as you take it, squire.  We don’t want to threaten nothing.’

’Because if you do, you’d better go, and do what you have to do away from here.’

’Don’t you be so rough now with an old pal.  You won’t do no good by being rough.  I wasn’t rough to you when you came to Polyeuka Hall without very much in your pocket.’  This was untrue, for Crinkett had been rough, and Caldigate’s pockets had been full of money; but there could be no good got by contradicting him on small trifles.  ’I was a good mate to you then.  You wouldn’t even have got your finger into the “Old Stick-in-the-Mud,” nor yet into Polyeuka, but for me.  I was the making of your fortin, Caldigate.  I was.’

‘My fortune, such as it is, was made by my own industry.’

’Industry be blowed!  I don’t know that you were so much better than anybody else.  Wasn’t I industrious?  Wasn’t I thinking of it morning, noon, and night, and nothing else?  You was smart.  I do allow that, Caldigate.  You was very smart.’