"I made an effort to rise, but he threatened me with the fork." Page 265
I saw the force of the argument and obeyed. "I am sorry you take it so ill. I have done no harm and----"
I began, but he cut me short.
"No harm, you dirty rascal. It's scoundrels like you that are the pest of the country--lazy, loafing tramps sneaking about and stealing whatever you can lay your hands on"; and he let himself go on what was evidently a sore subject with him. His fury was out of all proportion to the cause of it, even supposing I had been the tramp he deemed me.
To argue with any one in such a rage as possessed him at that moment was obviously useless, however, so I let him storm and abuse me as he pleased. While he held that fork, I knew that any retort from me might make him use it.
He mistook my calmness for fear, and as he warmed to the congenial work of abusing me, he grew more threatening with his weapon, and flourished it about in such a way that I expected any moment to find it plunged into my body. I simulated dire alarm, and cringed and winced at his gestures in a way that gave him huge delight.
But it also led him to give me the chance for which I was waiting; and when at last an opportunity came, I dragged the fork out of his grasp, jumped to my feet, and placed myself between him and the door.
For once at any rate I traded on somebody else's evil reputation. The farmer ran rapidly down the scale through surprise to almost abject fright. He stood shaking in every limb with his eyes darting from the fork to my face, as if he expected me to treat him to the same sort of breakfast as that with which he had so glibly threatened me.
"I didn't mean it," he stammered. "I know you have done no harm. It'll be all right, my man. You can go."
"I'm glad you've changed your tone, but you've made a mistake about me. I hope you can see that."