“It’s my master’s rope,” I said, struggling to get free. “I will have it.”
“What! yer’d steal it, would yer? Yer’d tell the polliss, would yer!” growled the fellow, tightening his grip; “I’ll soon see about that. Here you, Micky, bring that there rope here.”
The boy struggled to his feet, and came slowly to us with the rope, which the man scanned eagerly.
“I don’t want to make no mistakes,” he growled. “Let’s see it. If it’s your rope, you shall have it, but—now then! d’yer hear?”
This was to the boy, who took advantage of my helpless position to give me a couple of savage kicks in the leg as he stood there; but as he had no shoes on, the kicks did not do much harm.
“Why, o’ course it is our rope,” growled the fellow. “Gahn with you, what d’yer mean by coming here with a tale like that?”
He gave me a shake, and the woman interfered.
“Let him go, Ned,” she said, “or ther’ll be a row.”
The man took one hand from my shoulder, and doubled his great fist, which he held close to the woman’s face in a menacing way. Then turning sharply he made believe to strike me with all his might right in the mouth, when, as I flinched, he growled out with a savage grin:
“Ah! yer know’d yer deserved it. Now I dunno whether I’m going to keep yer here, or whether I shall let yer go; but whichever I does, don’t you go a sweering that this here’s your rope, a cause it’s mine. D’yer hear, mine?”