"On my soul, it's awkward—I'll call at the tan-yard and explain."
"I had rather you would explain here."
"Well then, though it's a confounded unpleasant thing to say—and I really wish I had not been brought into such a position—you'll not heed my wife's nonsense?"
"I do not understand you."
"Come, it's no use running to cover in that way. Let's be open and plain. I mean no offence. You may be a very respectable young man for aught I know, still rank is rank. Of course Doctor Jessop asks whom he likes to his house—and, by George! I'm always civil to everybody—but really, in spite of my lady's likings, I can't well invite you to my table!"
"Nor could I humiliate myself by accepting any such invitation."
He said the words distinctly, so that the whole circle might have heard, and was turning away, when Mr. Brithwood fired up—as an angry man does in a losing game.
"Humiliate yourself! What do you mean, sir? Wouldn't you be only too thankful to crawl into the houses of your betters, any how, by hook or by crook? Ha! ha! I know you would. It's always the way with you common folk, you rioters, you revolutionists. By the Lord! I wish you were all hanged."
The young blood rose fiercely in John's cheek, but he restrained himself. "Sir, I am neither a rioter nor a revolutionist."
"But you are a tradesman? You used to drive Fletcher's cart of skins."