"I'll clear her out of the way, and joyfully," he said.
"I shouldn't blame you. But I fancy there's another way."
"Another way? What?" he snapped out.
"Get some one else to clear her out of the way for you."
"By Jove, if I only could!" he said, under his breath.
"It's merely a matter of money. How much would you give to be put in the possession of your seven thousand a year?"
"Fifty thousand pounds," he said.
I laughed, and said: "You are in a prodigal humor. But to accept your offer would be taking an unfair advantage of your necessity. Will you give five thousand?"
"Yes!" he shouted.
I laughed again at his eagerness, and said: "Well, I think that for that sum she could be removed."
"Done!" he cried. "Should you do it yourself? I don't want it done gently. Let her die painfully."
I have always heard that an infuriated sheep is worse than a savage dog; and the once so gentle Marmaduke seemed no exception to the rule.
"I certainly shan't do it myself; and I can't undertake that it shall be done painfully," I said gravely.
