At this moment Mr. Joe Parsons appeared in the passage. The children, who had once or twice commented in shouts, dispersed. "I've come for my rent," said old Jack.
Mr. Joe Parsons saw no retreat. So he said, "Rent? Ain't you 'ad it? I don't bother about things in the 'ouse. Come again when my wife's in."
"She is in," rejoined old Jack, "an' you've been a-landin' of 'er for payin' me what little she 'as. Come, you pay me what you owe me, and take a week's notice now. I want my house kep' respectable."
Mr. Joe Parsons had no other shift. "You be damned," he said. "Git out."
"What?" gasped old Jack—for to tell a landlord to get out of his own house!... "What?"
"Why git out? Y' ought to know better than comin' 'ere askin' for money you ain't earnt."
"Ain't earnt? What d'ye mean?"
"What I say. Y' ain't earnt it. It's you blasted lan'lords as sucks the blood o' the workers. You go an' work for your money."
Old Jack was confounded. "Why—what—how d'ye think I can pay the rates, an' everythink?"
"I don't care. You'll 'ave to pay 'em, an' I wish they was 'igher. They ought to be the same as the rent, an' that 'ud do away with fellers like you. Go on: you do your damdest an' get your rent best way you can."