“What of it! eh? Why, the glorious name of Candlish will be dragged in the mire.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the squire, playing again.
“Why, Luke, that stroke was not emblematic, was it, of your turning into a screw?”
“None of your hints. I put on no screw, and I am no screw. You have your five hundred a year to spend, and I keep you besides.”
“Oh, yes: and keep me well; but a man can’t always keep just inside a certain line.”
“You always keep outside a certain line,” retorted the squire. “You have your five hundred regularly.”
“And you have your five thousand regularly,” said Tom, who was beginning to flush up.
“Well, what of that?”
“Why, it isn’t fair that you should have all this big place and a large income, and I nearly nothing.”
“That’s right,” said the squire; “abuse your father.”