“Well, sir, the application is without precedent, and I must decline it; but this I beg to do as courteously, as the application has been made uncourteously.”
“Oh, it is easy to be polite, when you've got no heart.”
“You are the first ever brought that charge against me.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Potter, warmly. “No heart! Mr. Grotait is known for a good husband, a tender father, and the truest friend in Hillsborough.”
The others echoed these sentiments warmly and sincerely; for, as strange as it may appear to those who have not studied human nature at first hand, every word of this eulogy was strictly true.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Grotait. “But we must make allowances. Mr. Little is smarting under a gross and dastardly outrage, and also under a fair defeat; and thinks his opponents must be monsters. Now I should like to show him the contrary. Let Simmons take care of himself. You have given him good advice, and much to your credit: now have you nothing to say to us, on your own account?”
“Not a word,” said Henry, steadily
“But suppose I could suggest a way by which you could carry on your trade in Hillsborough, and offend nobody?”
“I should decline to hear it even. You and I are at war on that. You have done your worst, and I shall do my best to make you all smart for it, the moment I get a chance.”
Grotait's cheek reddened with anger at this rebuff, and it cost him an effort to retain his friendly intentions. “Come, come,” said he, rather surlily, “don't be in a hurry till you have heard the nature of my proposal. Here, Jess, a quart of the best ale. Now, to begin, let us drink and be comfortable together.”