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compromise.'
Poor Morris turned as pale as death, and then a flush of wrath against
the injustice of man's destiny dyed his very temples. 'What do you
mean?' he cried, 'I don't believe a word of it.' And when Michael had
assured him of his seriousness, 'Well, then,' he cried, with another
deep flush, 'I won't; so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it.'
'Oho!' said Michael queerly. 'You say your uncle is dangerously ill, and
you won't compromise? There's something very fishy about that.'
'What do you mean?' cried Morris hoarsely.
'I only say it's fishy,' returned Michael, 'that is, pertaining to the
finny tribe.'
'Do you mean to insinuate anything?' cried Morris stormily, trying the
high hand.
'Insinuate?' repeated Michael. 'O, don't let's begin to use awkward
expressions! Let us drown our differences in a bottle, like two affable
kinsmen. The Two Affable Kinsmen, sometimes attributed to Shakespeare,'
he added.
Morris's mind was labouring like a mill. 'Does he suspect? or is this
chance and stuff? Should I soap, or should I bully? Soap,' he concluded.
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