"Now, Barry," exclaimed Mr. Smivvle, "do be calm, Mr. Beverley only
wants to help you--er--that is, in a friendly way, of course, and I
'm sure--"
"Damn his help! I'd rather die in the g-gutter than ask help or
charity of any one."
"Yes, yes--of course, my dear fellow! But you're so touchy, Barry,
so infernally proud, my dear boy. Mr. Beverley merely wishes to--"
"Be honored with your friendship," said Barnabas with his ingenuous
smile.
"Why then, Dig," says his youthful Mightiness, beginning to relent,
"pray beg Mr. Bev'ley's pardon for me again, and 'sure him the honor
is mine."
"And I would have you trust me also," Barnabas pursued.
"Trust you?" repeated Barrymaine with a sudden laugh. "Gad, yes,
willingly! Only it happens I've n-noth-ing left to trust you with,
--no, not enough to pay the Spanswick."
"And yet, if you will, you may be free," said Barnabas the persistent.
"Free! He's at it again, Dig."
"Believe me it is my earnest desire to help you,--to--"
"Help me, sir! a stranger! by heaven,--no! A stranger, damme!"
"Let us say your friend."
"I tell you, sir," said Barrymaine, starting up unsteadily,
"I seek no man's aid--s-scorn it! I'm not one to weep out my
misfortunes to strangers. Damme, I'm man enough to manage my own
affairs, what's left of 'em. I want nobody's accursed pity
either--pah!" and he made a gesture of repudiation so fierce that he
staggered and recovered himself only by clutching at Mr. Smivvle's
ready arm. "The Past, sir," said he, supporting himself by that
trusty arm, "the Past is done with, and the F-Future I'll face alone,
as I have done all along, eh, Dig?"
"But surely--"
"Ay, surely, sir, I'm no object of charity whining for alms, no, by
Gad! I--I'm--Dig, push the brandy!"
"If you would but listen--" Barnabas began again.
"Not--not a word. Why should I? Past's dead, and damn the Future. Dig,
pass the brandy."
"And I tell you," said Barnabas, "that in the future are hope and
the chance of a new life, once you are free of Gaunt."
"Free of Gaunt! Hark to that, Dig. Must be dev'lish drunk to talk
such cursed f-folly! Why, I tell you again," he cried in rising
passion, "that I couldn't get free of Gaunt's talons even if I had
the money, and mine's all gone long ago, and half Cleone's beside,
--her Guardian's tied up the rest. She can't touch another penny
without his consent, damn him!--so I'm done. The future? In the
future is a debtor's prison that opens for me whenever Jasper Gaunt
says the word. Hope? There can be no hope for me till Jasper Gaunt's
dead and shrieking in hell-fire."
"But your debts shall be paid,--if you will."