"
"Straight it is," Mr. Jope agreed: "and we'll talk o' the bones by
an' by. Wot name, sir?--makin' so bold."
"My name's Coyne."
"An' mine's Cash." Mr. Jope fumbled with the fastening of a pouch
underneath his broad waistbelt. "So we're well met. How much?"
"Eh?"
"How much? Accordin' to your darter 'twas forty pound a year, an'
money down: but whether monthly or quarterly she didn' say."
"It's no question of money. It's a question of you two clearin' out,
and at once. I'm breakin' what I have to say as gently as I can.
If you don't choose to understand plain language, I must go an' fetch
the constable."
"I seen him, up at the village this afternoon, an' you'd better not.
Bill, why can't ye fill the gentleman's glass?"
"Because the jug's empty," answered Mr. Adams.
"Then slip down to the cellar again."
"No!" Mr. Coyne almost screamed it, rising from his chair. Dropping
back weakly, he murmured, panting, "Not for me: not on any account!"
His face was pale, and for the moment all the aggressiveness had gone
out of him. He lifted a hand weakly to his heart.
"A sudden faintness," he groaned, closing his eyes.
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