he dared to look from behind his tree. Even if he were not seen he would be heard. Besides, the party might break up at any moment.
So he stood where he was, and listened to the voices, but ceased straining after the words. Then a cork popped; the voices were raised in a minute; in less than ten he must hear every syllable, whether he would or no. But he would, for his own name was on their lips, coupled with hideous imprecations and the name of Mr. Nat.
“You savvy?” said the Scotchman’s mate, a young convict known as Brummy. “He wants to get the bloke his fifty, if not his spell in the crawlers too!”
“An’ sairves him richt!” cried Macbeth, with an oath. “Didna’ he squeak and get me my fifty for you screw-hammer? Man, but he’ll be squeakin’ fine the noo!”
“You’ve only to say Erichsen brought ’em,” added Brummy, “and you were too drunk to see what they were, or you’d never have taken them in.”
“He’ll know different!”
“Ay, but he’s going to pretend,” explained the Scot, “an’ you’ve just to do the same.”
“Then I’m to lug them back myself, ami?”
“First thing in the morning; and the cove’ll tip you the stumpy himself.”
“The young cove?”
“Yes.”
“Dinna we keep tellin’ ye it’s Nat’s idee? He thairsts for that man’s blood as much as I do mysel’. An’ I’d slit’s juggler if I got the chance!”
The villains went on talking for another hour. But the foul truth clogged Tom’s mind, and he took in but little more of what he heard.
