all in the hands of Mr.
Barry; and, if you will believe me, no good can be done by any of you by
hunting me across the park."

"Hare you a bastard, or haren't you?" ejaculated Hart.

"No, Mr. Hart, I am not."

"Then pay us what you h'owes us. You h'ain't h'agoing to say as you don't
h'owe us?"

"Mr. Tyrrwhit," said the captain, "it is of no use my answering Mr.
Hart, because he is angry."

"H'angry! By George, I h'am angry! I'd like to pull that h'old sinner's
bones h'out of the ground!"

"But to you I can say that Mr. Barry will be better able to tell you
than I am what can be done by me to defend my property."

"Captain Scarborough," said Mr. Tyrrwhit, mildly, "we had your name, you
know. We did have your name."

"And my father bought the bonds back."

"Oh laws! And he calls himself a shentleman!"

"I have nothing farther to say to you now, gentlemen, and can only refer
you to Mr. Barry." The path on which they were walking had then brought
them to the corner of a garden wall, through which a door opened into
the garden. Luckily, at the moment, it occurred to Mountjoy that there
was a bolt on the other side of the gate, and he entered it quickly and
bolted the door. Mr. Tyrrwhit was left on the other side, and was joined
by his companions as quickly as their failing breath enabled them to do
so. "'Ere's a go!" said Mr. Hart, striking the door violently with the
handle of his stick.

"He had nothing for it but to leave us when we attacked him altogether,"
said Mr. Tyrrwhit. "If you had left it to me he would have told us what
he intended to do. You, Mr. Hart, had not so much cause to be angry, as
you had received a considerable sum for interest." Then Mr. Hart turned
upon Mr. Tyrrwhit, and abused him all the way back to their inn. But it
was pleasant to see how these commercial gentlemen, all engaged in the
natural course of trade, expressed their violent indignation, not so
much as to their personal losses, but at the commercial dishonesty
generally of which the Scarboroughs, father and son, had been and were
about to be guilty.

Mountjoy, when he reached the house of which he was now the only
occupant besides the servants, stood for an hour in the dining-room with
his back toward the fire, thinking of his position. He had many things
of which to think. In the first place, there were these pseudo-creditors
who had just attacked him in his own park with much acrimony. He
endeavored to comfort himself b