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Updated: June 28, 2025
He wanted six thousand pounds as mortgage on Ballawhaine. Had Pete got so much to lend? No need for personal intercourse; Cæsar would act as intermediary. Pete took only a moment for consideration. Yes, he had got the money, and he would lend it. Cæsar looked at Pete; Pete looked at Cæsar. "He's talking all this rubbish," thought Cæsar, "but he knows where the girl has gone to.
"We've had differences on that subject before, mistress," he answered. "And yet you begrudge him the little that would start him in life." "My own has earlier claim, ma'am." "Saving your presence, sir, let me tell you that every penny of the money you are spending on Ross would have been Philip's this day if things had gone different." The Ballawhaine bit his lip.
Not Jamesie Corrin, even he's a nice boy, is Jamesie." "That dandy-divil with the collar? Hould your capers, woman!" "Nor young Ballawhaine Ross Christian, you know?" "Ross Christian be well, no; but, honour bright, you'll be saying, 'Peter's coming; I must be thrue!" "So I've got my orders, sir, eh? It's all settled then, is it?
"Yes," said Auntie Nan eagerly, "and it was partly that " "Indeed!" said the Ballawhaine, raising his eyebrows. "I calculate that his course in London will cost me, one thing with another, more than a thousand pounds." Auntie Nan lifted her gloved hands in amazement. "That sum I am prepared to spend in order that my son, as an English barrister, may have a better chance "
The deeds of Ballawhaine were then committed to Cæsar's care for custody and safe keeping, and he carried them off to his safe at the mill with a long stride and a face of fierce triumph. "The ould Ballawhaine is dying," he thought; "and if we kick out the young one some day, it'll only be the Lord's hand on a rascal."
The English footman in the scarlet breeches had been peeping from under the stairs. That was Pete's first and last interview with his father. Peter Christian Ballawhaine was a terror in the Keys by this time, but he had trembled before his son like a whipped cur. Katherine Cregeen, Pete's champion at school, had been his companion at home as well. She was two years younger than Pete.
Half-way up the carriage-drive he passed a sandy-haired youth of his own age, a slim dandy who hummed a tune and looked at him carelessly over his shoulder. Pete knew him he was Boss, the boys called him Dross, son and heir of Christian Ballawhaine. At the big house Pete asked for the master. The English footman, in scarlet knee-breeches, left him to wait in the stone hall.
The office of Deemster never has been and never can be hereditary; yet the Christians of Ballawhaine had been Deemsters through six generations, and old Iron Christian expected that Thomas Wilson Christian would succeed him.
Yes, and they are looking down on you now, Peter Christian, and they know you at last for what you are and always have been a deceiver and a thief." By an involuntary impulse the Ballawhaine turned his eyes upward to the ceiling while she spoke, as if he had expected to see the ghosts of his father and his brother threatening him.
He's been tailor at the big house since the time of Iron Christian himself." "Truth enough," said Cæsar. "And he was sewing a suit for the big man in the kitchen when the bad work was going doing upstairs." "You don't say!" "'You've robbed me! says the Ballawhaine." "Dear heart alive!" cried Grannie. "To his own son, was it?"
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