Here Steerforth struck in.
“Then he said I was mean, and then he said I was base, and then I called him a beggar. If I had been cool, perhaps I shouldn’t have called him a beggar. But I did, and I am ready to take the consequences of it.”
Without considering, perhaps, whether there were any consequences to be taken, I felt quite in a glow at this gallant speech. It made an impression on the boys too, for there was a low stir among them, though no one spoke a word.
“I am surprised, Steerforth—although your candor does you honor,” said Mr. Creakle, “does you honor, certainly—I am surprised, Steerforth, I must say, that you should attach such an epithet to any person employed and paid in Salem House, sir.”
Steerforth gave a short laugh.
“That’s not an answer, sir,” said Mr. Creakle, “to my remark. I expect more than that, from you, Steerforth.”
If Mr. Mell looked homely, in my eyes, before the handsome boy, it would be quite impossible to say how homely Mr. Creakle looked.
“Let him deny it,” said Steerforth.
“Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth?” cried Mr. Creakle. “Why, where does he go a begging?”
“If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation’s one,” said Steerforth. “It’s all the same.”