‘Give it to me, I say,’ returned the old man fiercely. ‘Hush, hush, don’t cry, Nell. If I spoke sharply, dear, I didn’t mean it. It’s for thy good. I have wronged thee, Nell, but I will right thee yet, I will indeed. Where is the money?’

‘Do not take it,’ said the child. ‘Pray do not take it, dear. For both our sakes let me keep it, or let me throw it away — better let me throw it away, than you take it now. Let us go; do let us go.’

‘Give me the money,’ returned the old man, ‘I must have it. There — there — that’s my dear Nell. I’ll right thee one day, child, I’ll right thee, never fear!’

She took from her pocket a little purse. He seized it with the same rapid impatience which had characterised his speech, and hastily made his way to the other side of the screen. It was impossible to restrain him, and the trembling child followed close behind.

The landlord had placed a light upon the table, and was engaged in drawing the curtain of the window. The speakers whom they had heard were two men, who had a pack of cards and some silver money between them, while upon the screen itself the games they had played were scored in chalk. The man with the rough voice was a burly fellow of middle age, with large black whiskers, broad cheeks, a coarse wide mouth, and bull neck, which was pretty freely displayed, as his shirt collar was only confined by a loose red neckerchief. He wore his hat, which was of a brownish-white, and had beside him a thick knotted stick. The other man, whom his companion had called Isaac, was of a more slender figure — stooping, and high in the shoulders — with a very ill-favoured face, and a most sinister and villainous squint.

‘Now old gentleman,’ said Isaac, looking round. ‘Do you know either of us? This side of the screen is private, Sir.’

‘No offence, I hope,’ returned the old man.

‘But by G—, Sir, there is offence,’ said the other, interrupting him, ‘when you intrude yourself upon a couple of gentlemen who are particularly engaged.’

‘I had no intention to offend,’ said the old man, looking anxiously at the cards. ‘I thought that — ’

‘But you had no right to think, Sir,’ retorted the other. ‘What the devil has a man at your time of life to do with thinking?’

‘Now bully boy,’ said the stout man, raising his eyes from his cards for the first time, ‘can’t you let him speak?’

The landlord, who had apparently resolved to remain neutral until he knew which side of the question the stout man would espouse, chimed in at this place with ‘Ah, to be sure, can’t you let him speak, Isaac List?’

‘Can’t I let him speak,’ sneered Isaac in reply, mimicking as nearly as he could, in his shrill voice, the tones of the landlord. ‘Yes, I can let him speak, Jemmy Groves.’

‘Well then, do it, will you?’ said the landlord.

Mr List’s squint assumed a portentous character, which seemed to threaten a prolongation of this controversy, when his companion, who had been looking sharply at the old man, put a timely stop to it.

‘Who knows,’ said he, with a cunning look, ‘but the gentleman may have civilly meant to ask if he might have the honour to take a hand with us!’

‘I did mean it,’ cried the old man. ‘That is what I mean. That is what I want now!’