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           Fettespocketedthemoney,andapplaudedthesentimenttotheecho. ‘Youareaphilosopher,’hecried. ‘IwasanasstillIknewyou. YouandK—betweenyou,bytheLordHarry!butyou’llmakeamanofme.’ 

           ‘Ofcourseweshall,’applaudedMacfarlane.‘Aman? Itellyou,itrequiredamantobackmeuptheothermorning. Therearesomebig,brawling,forty-year-oldcowardswhowouldhaveturnedsickatthelookofthed-dthing; butnotyou—youkeptyourhead. Iwatchedyou.’ 

           ‘Well,andwhynot?’Fettesthusvauntedhimself. ‘Itwasnoaffairofmine.Therewasnothingtogainontheonesidebutdisturbance,andontheotherIcouldcountonyourgratitude,don’tyousee?’ Andheslappedhispockettillthegoldpiecesrang. 

           Macfarlanesomehowfeltacertaintouchofalarmattheseunpleasantwords. Hemayhaveregrettedthathehadtaughthisyoungcompanionsosuccessfully,buthehadnotimetointerfere,fortheothernoisilycontinuedinthisboastfulstrain:— 

           ‘Thegreatthingisnottobeafraid. Now,betweenyouandme,Idon’twanttohang—that’spractical; butforallcant,Macfarlane,Iwasbornwithacontempt. Hell,God,Devil,right,wrong,sin,crime,andalltheoldgalleryofcuriosities—theymayfrightenboys,butmenoftheworld,likeyouandme,despisethem. Here’stothememoryofGray!’