"You asked me that before and in public," said Cain, "and I told you, you were Signor Antonio. But you know well enough what you are and so do I."
"And what am I?" jeered Antonio.
"You're the man that deserted his wife and child, and your name is Giles Merry."
"Yes, it is, and don't you talk of deserting, you brat. I'm your father, so you look out. I'll thrash you."
"Oh no, you won't," said Cain boldly, "I'm quite equal to standing up to you, father. Leave my business alone, I've put up with you ever since we met a year ago, and I did what you wanted because you promised me not to go near my mother. I learn that you have written that you intend to call on her."
"What if I do? She's my wife as you're my son. She's got a house over her head, and money, and I've got a right to share both."
"No, you haven't," said Cain sharply, "you're no father of mine, as you deserted me and mother when we were poor. Now that we've got money, you'd come and make mother miserable. I kept my part of the bargain, so you keep to yours. If you write mother again or go near her, I'll make things hot."
Antonio made a dash at the boy--they were now in a quiet side street--and gasped with rage. "You unnatural young cuckoo----"
"Leave me alone, father, or I'll sing out for the police."
"What!" Antonio, finding force would not do, began to whine, "you'd run in your poor old father?"