"And when did he tell you all this?"
"'S marnin' as ever was."
"Where did you see him?"
"Oh, no!" said the Pedler, shaking his head, "not by no manner o'
means. I'm married, but I ain't that kind of a cove!"
"What do you mean?"
"The runners is arter 'im--lookin' for 'im 'igh an' low, an'
--though married, I ain't one to give a man away. I ain't a
friendly cove myself, never was, an' never shall be--never 'ad a
friend all my days, an' don't want one but I likes Black Jarge--I
pities, an' I despises 'im."
"Why do you despise him?"
Because 'e carries on so, all about a Eve--w'y, theer ain't a
woman breathin' as is worth a man's troublin' 'is lead over, no,
nor never will be--yet 'ere's Black Jarge ready--ah! an' more
than willin' to get 'isself 'ung, an' all for a wench--a Eve--"
"Get, himself hanged?" I repeated.
"Ah 'ung! w'y, ain't 'e a-waitin' an' a-waitin' to get at this
cove--this cove wi' the nice white 'ands an' the takin' ways,
ain't 'e awatchin' an' a-watchin' to meet 'im some lonely night
--and when 'e do meet 'im--" The Pedler sighed.
"Well?"
"W'y, there'll be blood shed--blood!--quarts on it--buckets on
it! Black Jarge'll batter this 'ere cove's 'ead soft, so sure as
I were baptized Richard 'e'll lift this cove up in 'is great,
strong arms, an' 'e'll throw this cove down, an' 'e'll gore 'im,
an' stamp 'im down under 'is feet, an' this cove's blood'll go
soakin' an' a-soakin' into the grass, some'eres beneath some
'edge, or in some quiet corner o' the woods--and the birds'll
perch on this cove's breast, an' flutter their wings in this
cove's face, 'cause they'll know as this cove can never do nobody
no 'urt no wore; ah! there'll be blood--gallons of it!"
"I hope not!" said I. "Ye do, do ye?"
"Most fervently!"
"An' 'cause why?"
"Because I happen to be that cove," I answered.
"Oh!" said the Pedler, eyeing me more narrowly; "you are, are
ye?"
"I am!"
"Yet you ain't got w'ite 'ands."
"They were white once," said I.
"An' I don't see as your ways is soft--nor yet takin'!"
"None the less, I am that cove!"
"Oh!" repeated the Pedler, and, having turned this intelligence
over in his mind, spat thoughtfully into the shadow again. "You
won't be wantin' ever a broom, I think you said?"