The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ in a low voice, not to be heard beyond the room, he questioned us very particularly as to our relations with other men, the length of time we had been wandering about the country, and especially about the tractability of Moll. And, being satisfied with our replies—above all, with Jack’s saying that Moll would jump out of window at his bidding, without a thought to the consequences—he says:

      “There’s a comedy we might play to some advantage if you were minded to take the parts I give you and act them as I direct.”

      “With all my heart,” cries Dawson. “I’ll play any part you choose; and as to the directing, you’re welcome to that, for I’ve had my fill of it. If you can make terms with our landlord, those things in the yard shall be yours, and for our payment I’m willing to trust to your honour’s generosity.”

      “As regards payment,” says the Don, “I can speak precisely. We shall gain fifty thousand pounds by our performance.”

      “Fifty thousand pounds,” says Jack, as if in doubt whether he had heard aright. Don Sanchez bent his head, without stirring a line in his face.

      Dawson took up his beaker slowly, and looked in it, to make sure that he was none the worse for drink, then, after emptying it, to steady his wits, he says again:

      “Fifty thousand pounds.”

      “Fifty thousand pounds, if not more; and that there be no jealousies one of the other, it shall be divided fairly amongst us—as much for your friend as for you, for the child as for me.”

      “Pray God, this part be no more than I can compass,” says Jack, devoutly.

      “You may learn it in a few hours—at least, your first act.”

      “And mine?” says I, entering for the first time into the dialogue.

      The Don hunched his shoulders, lifting his eyebrows, and sending two streams of smoke from his nose.

      “I scarce know what part to give you, yet,” says he. “To be honest, you are not wanted at all in the play.”

      “Nay, but you must write him a part,” says Dawson, stoutly; “if it be but to bring in a letter—that I am determined on. Kit stood by us in ill fortune, and he shall share better, or I’ll have none of it, nor Moll neither. I’ll answer for her.”

      “There must be no discontent among us,” says the Don, meaning thereby, as I think, that he had included me in his stratagem for fear I might mar it from envy. “The girl’s part is that which gives me most concern—and had I not faith in my own judgment—”

      “Set your mind at ease on that score,” cried Jack. “I warrant our Moll shall learn her part in a couple of days or so.”

      “If she learn it in a twelvemonth, ’twill be time enough.”

      “A twelvemonth,” said Jack, going to his beaker again, for understanding. “Well, all’s as one, so that we can get something in advance of our payment, to keep us through such a prodigious study.”

      “I will charge myself with your expenses,” says Don Sanchez; and then, turning to me, he asks if I have any objection to urge.

      “I take it, Señor, that you speak in metaphor,” says I; “and that this ‘comedy’ is nought but a stratagem for getting hold of a fortune that doesn’t belong to us.”

      Don Sanchez calmly assented, as if this had been the most innocent design in the world.

      “Hang me,” cries Dawson, “if I thought it was anything but a whimsey of your honour’s.”

      “I should like to know if we may carry out this stratagem honestly,” says I.

      “Aye,” cries Jack. “I’ll not agree for cutting of throats or breaking of bones, for any money.”

      “I can tell you no more than this,” says the Don. “The fortune we may take is now in the hands of a man who has no more right to it than we have.”

      “If that’s so,” says Jack, “I’m with you, Señor. For I’d as lief bustle a thief out of his gains as say my prayers, any day, and liefer.”

      “Still,” says I, “the money must of right belong to some one.”

      “We will say that the money belongs to a child of the same age as Moll.”

      “Then it comes to this, Señor,” says I, bluntly. “We are to rob that child of fifty thousand pounds.”

      “When you speak of robbing,” says the Don, drawing himself up with much dignity, “you forget that I am to play a part in this stratagem—I, Don Sanchez del Castillo de Castelaña.”

      “Fie, Kit, han’t you any manners?” cries Dick. “What’s all this talk of a child? Hasn’t the Señor told us we are but to bustle a cheat?”

      “But I would know what is to become of this child, if we take her fortune, though it be withheld from her by another,” says I, being exceeding obstinate and persistent in my liquor.

      “I shall prove to your conviction,” says the Don, “that the child will be no worse off, if we take this money, than if we leave it in the hands of that rascally steward. But I see,” adds he, contemptuously, “that for all your brotherly love, ’tis no such matter to you whether poor little Molly comes to her ruin, as every maid must who goes to the stage, or is set beyond the reach of temptation and the goading of want.”

      “Aye, and be hanged to you, Kit!” cries Dawson.

      “Tell me, Mr. Poet,” continues Don Sanchez, “do you consider this steward who defrauds that child of a fortune is more unfeeling than you who, for a sickly qualm of conscience, would let slip this chance of making Molly an honest woman?”

      “Aye, answer that, Kit,” adds Jack, striking his mug on the table.

      “I’ll answer you tomorrow morning, Señor,” says I. “And whether I fall in with the scheme or not is all as one, since my help is not needed; for if it be to Moll’s good, I’ll bid you farewell, and you shall see me never again.”

      “Spoken like a man!” says Don Sanchez, “and a wise one to boot. An enterprise of this nature is not to be undertaken without reflection, like the smoking of a pipe. If you put your foot forward, it must be with the understanding that you cannot go back. I must have that assurance, for I shall be hundreds of pounds out of pocket ere I can get any return for my venture.”

      “Have no fear of me or of Moll turning tail at a scarecrow,” says Jack, adding with a sneer, “we are no poets.”

      “Reflect upon it. Argue it out with your friend here, whose scruples do not displease me, and let me know your determination when the last word is said. Business carries me to London tomorrow; but you shall meet me at night, and we will close the business—aye or nay—ere supper.”

      With that he opens the door and gives us our congee, the most noble in the world; but not offering to give us a bed, we are forced to go out of doors and grope our way through the snow to the cart-shed, and seek a shelter there from the wind, which was all the keener and more bitter for our leaving a good fire. And I believe the shrewd Spaniard had put us to this pinch СКАЧАТЬ