Bradley turned away his haggard face for a few moments, and then said, tearing up a tuft of grass:

“Damn him!”

“Hooroar!” cried Riderhood. “Does you credit! Hooroar! I cry chorus to the t’otherest.”

“What turn,” said Bradley, with an effort at self-repression that forced him to wipe his face, “did his insolence take today?”

“It took the turn,” answered Riderhood, with sullen ferocity, “of hoping as I was getting ready to be hanged.”