"
He put one hand on the man's forearm and ran the other down the plump body
beneath the coat. "My goodness!" said he to Torpenhow, "and this gray oaf dares
to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the black hide taken off
his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet dates, and he was as tough
as whipcord. This thing's soft all over--like a woman."
There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by a man
who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to breathe
heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a soft hearth-rug.
Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches underneath the eyes, and
shook his head. "You were going to steal my things,--mine, mine, mine!--you,
who don't know when you may die. Write a note to your office,--you say you're
the head of it,--and order them to give Torpenhow my sketches,--every one of
them. Wait a minute: your hand's shaking. Now!" He thrust a pocket-book before
him. The note was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while
Dick walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice as
he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned with a
gigantic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, "Now, I hope this
will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I have settled down to work
with any nonsense about actions for assault, believe me, I'll catch you and
manhandle you, and you'll die.
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