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Updated: August 24, 2024
No, my dear, 'tain't the clurk. 'Tis the li'bilities." "What are the liabilities?" asked Boy. "They're the devil, my dear," said the old man. "That's all I can tell you. Land you in the lock-up soon as look at you." Later that evening the girl went to call on her friend, Mr. Haggard. He was in his study among his books, and rose to greet her with that affectionate kindliness he reserved for her.
Said so to Boy four year back. 'Cash in 'and's one thing, I says. 'And li'bilities is another and totally different." He lifted a keen blue eye. "I understand from what Mr. Haggard tell me, you could ha' dodged 'em out o' some of it only you was too straight." He held up a disapproving finger. "That's just where you done wrong, Mr. Silver.
His round head was deeper between his shoulders than of old, and his pink face was strained and solicitous. Some men said he was over eighty now. "Well, sir," he wheezed, "I see you take it good and game." "No good crying over spilt milk," replied Silver. The old trainer raised his hand as he settled in his seat. "Don't tell me," he said. "It's them there li'bilities. I was always agin 'em.
Th' diff'rence in furrin' policies is the diff'rence between a second-rate safe blower an' a first-class boonco steerer. Th' Fr-rinch buy a ton iv dinnymite, spind five years in dhrillin' a hole through a steel dure, blow open th' safe, lose a leg or an ar-rm, an' get away with th' li'bilities iv th' firm.
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