Читать книгу Under the Tiger's Claws; Or, A Struggle for the Right онлайн

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“Why, certainly, Nick, I already know that,” exclaimed Gilsey, with a surprised expression in his gentle, blue eyes. “But what do you imply of this rascal?”

“Merely this,” smiled Nick. “Aside from his vocation, which in every way I despise, Moses Flood is not a rascal. I know what I am talking about, Gilsey. Flood is a man whose word is as good as any man’s bond. He is as square a man as ever stood in leather. If he wanted to borrow half my fortune till to-morrow, with no better security than his word alone, he could have it, and I should sleep soundly to-night, knowing that he had it.”

“You surprise me, Nick. I should not have formed that opinion of him.”

“Oh, I am but incidentally setting you right as to the man,” added Nick. “He is not a ruffian, nor is he a rascal, save in one way. He is well educated, a student of the sciences, and an admirer of the fine arts. His bachelor quarters are filled with superb treasures and paintings well worth seeing, a veritable art gallery in fact. I know that he gives most liberally to charity, moreover, and I am informed that no man was ever enticed into or intentionally cheated in his gaming-place, which is open only to the very wealthy and most exclusive of our men about town.”