"I want money," said Hugh Trimble, for, of course it was he.

 

"Is this the fashion in which you ask it?" said Mr. Grey. "Let go my bridle, and come round to my house. Then I will listen to your application, and, if I find you deserving, I will grant your request."

 

"That don't go down," said Hugh, roughly. "You rich men take good care of your money. I shouldn't stand no chance at your house."

 

"As much there as here."

 

"Maybe not," said the man, significantly. "There you'd be master. Here, I am master."

 

"What do you mean by that?"

 

"I mean that I want five hundred dollars, and I mean to have it."

 

"Do you dare to threaten me?"

 

"Yes, I do. You are a rich man—I am poor. You can spare five hundred dollars without feeling it."

 

"I don't intend to be forced into giving you money. Let go that bridle, or I will run over you."

 

"I will stand by you, Mr. Grey," said Gilbert, speaking for the first time. "Don't submit to that man's demands."

 

"Young man," said Hugh, "you'd better not interfere². You can't help your father."

 

"He is not my father."

 

"No matter what he is, you'd better keep out of the affair. That's the advice I give you."

 

"I shall stand by him," said Gilbert, spiritedly. "You've got two against you."

 

"And you've got two against you," said Hugh, drawing a pistol from a side-pocket. "What do you say to that?"

 

"My friend, what is it that you demand?" asked Mr. Grey.

 

"So I'm your friend now, am I?" retorted Hugh, with a mocking laugh. "It's the pistol that's done it, I reckon."

 

"I repeat it—what do you want?"

 

"Five hundred dollars."

 

"I left my pocket-book at home. I will go back and get the money."

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