Trent--you keep it--and give me the brandy." He staggered up on to his feet and crept back into the hut.

His hands were outstretched, claw-like and bony, his eyes were fierce as a wild cat's.

But Trent stood between him and the brandy bottle.
"Look here," he said, "you shall have the picture back--curse you! But listen.

If I were you and had wife, or daughter, or sweetheart like this "-- he touched the photograph almost reverently--"why, I'd go through fire and water but I'd keep myself decent; ain't you a silly old fool, now?
We've made our piles, you can go back and take her a fortune, give her jewels and pretty dresses, and all the fal-de-lals that women love.
You'll never do it if you muddle yourself up with that stuff.

Pull yourself together, old 'un.