“I intends to see Master Mascarin myself presently,” remarked Chupin.
“You are an idiot.”
“Why so? Do you think I didn’t live better before I had anything to do with this blooming old cove? I never worked then. I used to sing in front of the pubs, and easily made my three francs a day. My pal and I soon check ‘em though, and then off we went to the theatre. Sometimes we’d make tracks for Ivry, and take our doss in a deserted factory, into which the crushers never put their noses. In the winter we used to go to the glass houses and sleep in the warm ashes. All these were good times, while now—”
“Well, what have you to grumble at now? Don’t I hand you a five-franc piece every day that you are at work?”
“But that ain’t good enough. Come, don’t get shirty; all I asks is a rise of salary. Only say either Yes or No; and if you say No, why, I sends in my resignation.”
Beaumarchef would have given a five-franc piece out of his own pocket for Mascarin to have heard the boy’s impertinence.
“You are a young rascal!” said he, “and keep the worst of company. There is no use in denying it, for a hang-dog fellow, calling himself Polyte, has been here asking after you.”
“My company ain’t any business of yours.”
“Well, I give you warning, you will come to grief.”
“How?” returned Toto Chupin sulkily. “How can I come to grief? If old Mascarin interferes, I’ll shut up his mouth pretty sharp. I wish you and your master wouldn’t poke their noses into my affairs. I’m sick of you both. Don’t you think I’m up to you? When you make me follow some one for a week at a time, it isn’t to do ‘em a kindness, I reckon. If things turn out badly, I’ve only to go before a beak and speak up; I should get off easily enough then; and if I do so, you will be sorry for not having given me more than my five francs a day.”