extort more money, or that you may not betray our secret after all?"
"The honour of a soldier and a gintleman," answered the major, rising and tapping his chest with two fingers of his right hand.
A slight sneer played over Girdlestone's pale face, but he made no remark. "We are in your power," he said, "and have no resource but to submit to your terms. You said five hundred pounds?"
"A thousand," the major answered cheerfully.
"It's a great sum of money."
"Deuce of a lot!" said the veteran cordially.
"Well, you shall have it. I will communicate with you." Girdlestone rose as if to terminate the interview.
The major made no remark, but he showed his white teeth again, and tapped Mr. Girdlestone's cheque-book with the silver head of his walking-stick.
"What! Now?"
"Yes, now."
The two looked at each other for a moment and the merchant sat down again and scribbled out a cheque, which he tossed to his companion. The latter looked it over carefully, took a fat little pocket-book from the depths of his breast pocket, and having placed the precious slip of paper in it, laboriously pushed it back into its receptacle. Then he very slowly and methodically picked up his jaunty curly-brimmed hat and shining kid gloves, and with a cheery nod to his companion, who answered it with a scowl, he swaggered off into the counting-house. There he shook hands with Tom, whom he had known for some months, and having made three successive offers—one to stand immediately an unlimited quantity of champagne, a second to play him five hundred up for anything he would name, and a third to lay a tenner for him at 7 to 4 on Amelia for the Oaks—all of which offers were declined with thanks—he bowed himself out, leaving a vague memory of smiles, shirt collars, and gaiters in the minds of the awe-struck clerks.
