A gold chain of fabulous weight hung around his neck and held his Jurgensen repeater.
He rose and walked his room, and rubbed his hands, as was his habit; then paused before his mirror, admired his robust figure and large face, brushed his hair back from his big brow, and walked on again.

Finally, he paused before his glass, and indulged in another habit peculiar to himself.
"Robert Belcher," said he, addressing the image in the mirror, "you are a brick! Yes, sir, you are a brick! You, Robert Belcher, sir, are an almighty smart man.

You've outwitted the whole of 'em.

Look at me, sir! Dare you tell me, sir, that I am not master of the situation?
Ah! you hesitate; it is well! They all come to me, every man of 'em It is 'Mr.
Belcher, will you be so good ?' and 'Mr.Belcher, I hope you are very well,' and 'Mr.Belcher, I want you to do better by me.' Ha! ha! ha! ha! My name is Norval.

It isn't?
Say that again and I'll throttle you! Yes, sir, I'll shake your rascally head off your shoulders! Down, down in the dust, and beg my pardon! It is well; go! Get you gone, sir, and remember not to beard the lion in his den!" Exactly what this performance meant, it would be difficult to say.