“Don’t you say much, unless you want to fight. I’d be ashamed to put my hands on any of the others, but I may be tempted to thrash you before leaving, so you’d better keep your mouth closed.”
Ives gasped and gurgled, but Skelding really seemed to find it difficult to keep off, so Julian closed up.
Skelding took up his hat and light overcoat, tossing the latter over his arm.
“I’m going,” he said, “and I’ll never come back to this place any more, I’m happy to say. I feel as if there may be a chance for me to become a man. And I want to warn you to let Defarge alone. He’s pretty low now, and you’ll only send him lower.”
Skelding walked to the door, where he paused, turned, and surveyed them all with a look of contempt.
“When you meet me hereafter,” he said, “kindly refrain from speaking to me. It will be best for you to do so, for I promise you that I shall take it as a deadly insult if you speak. I may not be able to whip Bart Hodge, but I’ll bet my shirt that I can whip any one of you, or the whole bunch together. Good night.”
Then he went out.
“Go to the devil!” hissed Julian Ives.
“Poor, misguided fellow!” sighed Chickering. “I must have some tea to steady my nerves.”