“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Isaac—“Gentleman’s presence! I don’t call you a gentleman. Why, you’re all that’s mean and shabby and poor. Just you pay me my wages in arrears.”
“Come to-morrow, scoundrel,” said Denville loftily. “Mr Linnell, if you would kindly send one of the people outside for a constable. He will find one by the Assembly-Room. Let him say that the man is wanted at Mr Denville’s—at the Master of the Ceremonies’, and he will come on directly.”
Linnell glanced up at where Claire was turning back in shame and distress of mind, little thinking that in a few minutes she would be bravely standing at her father’s side.
“Fetch a constable!” cried Isaac defiantly. “Do, if you dare. What do I care for a constable?”
“Why don’t you pay the man his wages?” said a voice at the door.
“Ah, to be sure,” cried Isaac, with a tipsy laugh. “Why don’t you pay the man his wages? ’Cause you can’t. Beggarly old upstart.”
“Silence, you scoundrel!” cried Linnell fiercely, “or I’ll drag you out and throw you over the cliff for your insolence.”
“Do it—do it!” cried Isaac fiercely. “Who’s afraid?”
“Silence, dog!” cried Denville, catching up his cane.
“Don’t strike him, Mr Denville,” said Linnell. “Some one there fetch a constable. Five shillings for the first man who brings one here.”