It's less--how should I say?--vulgar. He will
know what it means. It's not a bad form to give to the business--which
in itself is crude, Martin, crude."
"Want to spare his feelings?" jeered the secretary in such a bitter tone
that Mr. Jones was really surprised.
"Why, it was your own notion, confound you!"
"Who says it wasn't?" retorted Ricardo sulkily. "But I am fairly sick of
this crawling. No! No! Get the exact bearings of his swag and then a rip
up. That's plenty good enough for him."
His passions being thoroughly aroused, a thirst for blood was allied in
him with a thirst for tenderness--yes, tenderness. A sort of anxious,
melting sensation pervaded and softened his heart when he thought of
that girl--one of his own sort. And at the same time jealousy started
gnawing at his breast as the image of Heyst intruded itself on his
fierce anticipation of bliss.
"The crudeness of your ferocity is positively gross, Martin," Mr. Jones
said disdainfully. "You don't even understand my purpose. I mean to
have some sport out of him. Just try to imagine the atmosphere of the
game--the fellow handling the cards--the agonizing mockery of it! Oh,
I shall appreciate this greatly. Yes, let him lose his money instead of
being forced to hand it over. You, of course, would shoot him at once,
but I shall enjoy the refinement and the jest of it.
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