Richard hailed him noisily, and bade him ring for another glass, adding, with a burst of oaths, some appalling threats of how anon he should serve Anthony Wilding.

His wits drowned in the stiff liquor Vallancey had pressed upon him, he seemed of a sudden to have grown as fierce and bloodthirsty as any scourer that ever terrorized the watch.
Blake listened to him and grunted.

"Body o' me!" swore the town gallant.
"If that's the humour you're going out to fight in, I'll trouble you for the eight guineas I won from you at Primero yesterday before you start." Richard reared himself, by the help of the table, and stood a thought unsteadily, his glance laboriously striving to engage Blake's.
"Damn me!" quoth he.

"Your want of faith dishgraces me--and 't 'shgraces you.

Shalt ha' the guineas when we're back--and not before." "Hum!" quoth Blake, to whom eight guineas were a consideration in these bankrupt days.