“Bosh! I shall be off,” said Fred, flippantly; and, as he spoke, he made for the head of the staircase, not noticing that a movement had bee made in that direction by the private detectives, the principal speaking to the policeman, who nodded sapiently.
“Stop!” cried Max. “You shall not go without hearing a few words from me. You shall listen, as you are present, to advice that may—”
“Do him good,” cried Dick, turning upon him savagely. “Give it him, then, in your own place, and not in mine. You coward—you pitiful miscreant! To revenge yourself on me you stoop to this low, beggarly watching; and when your tools warn you of your opportunity, you are such a high-toned moral man that you come with your scoundrels to degrade and disgrace that poor child before her father. I don’t defend her—she did wrong; but I’m not a high-toned moral man, I’m not. I know what she has suffered; and I say to her, ‘Come here, my poor darling—I’m only a weak fool, and I forgive you.’”
“Father!” cried Jessie, and she sprang to his breast.
“Yes—lie there, my darling,” cried Dick, glancing round at all in turn. “Now let’s see who dare say a word against you—or touch you! You’re my gal, and always will be, come what may. I can’t cast you off and say I have no child; but—but, my darling, I’d sooner have been back, a poor man again, in Crowder’s Buildings, and bullied for my bit of rent, than this should have happened.”
“Oh, hush, father—hush!” whispered Jessie—“wait till they’re gone—wait till they’re gone.”
“No, I’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” cried Dick, “without it is of my brother and his sons. All the world may know that I was a poor man who made his fortune, but never lost his ignorant ways. So I forgive you, my gal.”
“Uncle,” cried Tom, “I have given you no cause to speak to me as you do.”
“Well, perhaps not, my lad—perhaps not. I’d take it kindly of you and Hopper, then, if you’d clear the house and then go.”
“I’ll soon rid you of my company,” said Fred. “Ta-ta, uncle. Good-bye, little Jess.”