“Yes, I saw,” shouted Uncle Tom. “But, you know, you arst fer trouble, Joe. You ’adn’t got no call to make it personal. Never min’. You siddown an’ ’ave a drink.” He screwed his head round. “Will you get ’im away?” he raved. “I ain’t a ’Ercules.”
“Oh, Bob, Bob!” wailed Ann. “Bob, for God’s sake come away. Surely, if I don’t mind, whyever should you? What does it matter? We know it isn’t true. Bob, if you love me, leave him and come away.”
Bob never heard her.
“ ’E’s insulted my wife,” he raged. “You ’eard ’im. That dirty red-nosed skunk ’as laid ’is tongue to my girl. Lemme go, Aunt ’Arriet. I tell you, it’s me or ’im. An’——”
Ann’s voice rang out.
“D’you want to kill me? D’you want me to die of shame?”
Her husband stopped struggling and turned.
“Look ’ere, kid,” he expostulated. “You can’t expec’ me to sit still an’ ’ear——”
“You haven’t. You’ve hit him on the mouth. And I say that’s enough—I say so.”
The pronoun stood up above the uproar.