“Uncle,” said Tom, “when you are cooler you’ll think better of me, I hope. I can’t help this. I do love Jessie dearly.”
“I won’t hear a word,” cried Dick.
“But you’ll shake hands with me?”
“No: I’m a poor shoemaker, and you’re a gentleman. Be off!”
“Oh, father! father!” cried Jessie; and she flung her arms round his neck.
“No, I won’t give way,” cried Dick; but he was patting and soothing his child as he spoke.
“Shake hands with him, Dick,” whispered Mrs Shingle. “It ain’t his fault.”
“I won’t!” cried Dick. “It is his fault. He had no business to come.”
“No, father, it was my fault,” sobbed Jessie. “Shake hands with him—please do!”
All this while Tom was standing with extended hand; and at last Dick’s went out to join it for a moment, and was then snatched away.