“Well, they’re not going.” MacTavish spoke more quietly, but with determination, glowering at Amesbury. “They have a debt here and they will stay until it is worked out. They’ve signed articles to remain here until the debt is worked out, and I will hold them under the articles. You fellows go back to your work.”
“We’re not going to work for you any more,” said Paul, his anger rising. “Mr. Amesbury has told you we’re going with him, and we are.”
“Go back to your work, I say, or I’ll have you flogged!” MacTavish was now in a rage, and he made for the lads as though to strike them, only to find the ungainly figure of Amesbury in the way.
“Tut! Tut! Big Jack Blunderbuss trying to strike the little Tiddledewinks! Fine display of courage! But not this time. No pugilistic encounters with any one but me while I’m around, and my hands have an awful itch to get busy.”
“None of your interference in the affairs of this post!” bellowed MacTavish. “You’re breeding mutiny here, and I’ve a mind to run you off the reservation.”
“Hey diddle diddle,” broke in Amesbury, who had not for a moment lost his temper, and who fairly oozed good humor. “This isn’t seemly in a man in your position, MacTavish. Now let’s be reasonable. Sit down and talk the matter over.”
“There’s nothing to talk over with you!” shouted MacTavish, who nevertheless resumed his seat.
“Well, now, we’ll see.” Amesbury drew a chair up, sat down in front of MacTavish, and leaning forward assumed a confidential attitude. “In the first place,” he began, “the lads owe a debt, you say, and you demand that it be paid.”
“They can’t leave here until it is paid! They can’t leave anyhow!” still in a loud voice.