“Now, sir, as he don’t condescend to tell me, what is this?”
Steerforth evaded the question for a little while; looking in scorn and anger on his opponent, and remaining silent. I could not help thinking even in that interval, I remember, what a noble fellow he was in appearance, and how homely and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed to him.
“What did he mean by talking about favorites, then!” said Steerforth at length.
“Favorites?” repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins in his forehead swelling quickly. “Who talked about favorites?”
“He did,” said Steerforth.
“And pray, what did you mean by that, sir?” demanded Mr. Creakle, turning angrily on his assistant.
“I meant, Mr. Creakle,” he returned in a low voice, “as I said; that no pupil had a right to avail himself of his position of favoritism to degrade me.”
“To degrade you?” said Mr. Creakle. “My stars! But give me leave to ask you, Mr. What’s-your-name;” and here Mr. Creakle folded his arms, cane and all, upon his chest, and made such a knot of his brows that his little eyes were hardly visible below them; “whether, when you
talk about favorites, you showed proper respect to me? To me, sir,” said Mr. Creakle, darting his head at him suddenly, and drawing it back again, “the principal of this establishment, and your employer.”
“It was not judicious, sir, I am willing to admit,” said Mr. Mell. “I should not have done so, if I had been cool.”