But the third plan's the best of all. You can get that 'ere purse of
gold. You get it, or tell me where to find it, and then you shall
have Maurice back. Within one hour Maurice shall be with you, and you
shall stay wid Cecile and Maurice, and I'll never, never trouble you
no more. I calls the last the neatest plan of all, lad. Don't you?"
Joe said nothing; his head was buried in his hands. Anton, however,
saw that he was listening.
"The last is the sensible plan," he said; and he laid his hand on
the lad's shoulder.
Joe started as though an adder had stung him. He threw off the
defiling hand, and moved some paces away.
"There ere the others," continued Anton. "There's the little chap
a-being beat and starved in London, and his little heart being hall
a-broken hup. Or _you_ can go back to the hold life, Joe Barnes;
you're elder, and can bear it better. Yer head is tough by now, I
guess; a big blow on it won't hurt you much; and you'll never see yer
old mother or yer brother--but never mind. Yer whole life will be
spent in utter misery--still, never mind, that ere dirty purse is
safe; never mind aught else."
"We han't got the purse," said Joe then, raising his haggard face.
"'Tis the gospel truth as I'm telling you, Anton. Cecile took the
purse to a lady in Paris to take care of fur her, and she is to keep
it until someone gives her a bit of paper back which she writ
herself. I can't give yer the purse, fur it ain't yere, Anton.
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