“Of course. I have always had to bear those assaults, boy. And so the young ruffians threw stones at you?”
Aleck hesitated.
“It was heads and bits of fish to-day, uncle.”
“The scum! The insolent scum! And some of the offal hit you?”
“Well, no; nothing hit me, uncle. They followed me about all through the place, and shouted at me every time I came out of a shop.”
“Bah! And because some young ragamuffins were insolent to you, my nephew must lower himself to their level. This is not the first time, sir. You have complained to me before, and you remember what I said to you one day when you came back after engaging in a most degrading scuffle.”
“Yes, uncle.”
“You promised me that should never occur again, after I had pointed out to you what your conduct ought to be, and how that the more you noticed these young rascals’ proceedings the worse it would be.”
“Yes, uncle, but I couldn’t remember it to-day. You can’t tell how bad it was, and how hard to bear.”
“I? Not tell? Not know?” cried the old man, passionately. “I not know what it is to be the butt of a few boys? You talk in your ignorance, sir, like a fool talketh. Why, for long years past I have been the mark for the contumely and insult of civilised England. Don’t make your paltry excuses to me. I say your conduct has been disgraceful. You were trusted to go. I made no objection, sir, save that for your sake and protection you should have an experienced boatman to help manage your boat on the way back, and you come home in this degraded state—hands and face bruised, your lips cut, and your eyes swollen up ready to turn black with horrible bruises. Aleck, it is blackguardly. You make me feel as if I ought to treat you as you deserve—take down that dusty old riding whip and flog you soundly.”