“Certainly.”
“Look here,” cried Anson fiercely; “there’s law for everybody. I’m not your servant any longer, for I refuse to stay with such a pack of tyrannical dividend-making scoundrels.”
“That will do,” growled the superintendent, in a low, deep voice. “Keep a civil tongue in your head. You’ll do no good for yourself by this.”
“You mind your own business,” cried Anson, turning upon the officer so fiercely that West wondered at the change in his fellow-clerk’s manner.
“All right: I will,” said the officer, seizing him sharply.
“Here, what are you going to do?” cried Anson, in alarm.
“Search you, my lad,” was the reply.
“Then I call everyone present to witness that this is illegal. I’m not going to stand quietly by and be treated like a worm.”
“Leave off wriggling, then,” said the officer.
“I won’t. I refuse to be treated like one of the black labourers.”