“Well, what sort of people are these Suthers, Rubley, and Spark?”
“Oh! dreadful cads, sir.”
“If you say that again,” cried the ex-butcher sharply, “I won’t make a stroke to get you out of your trouble.”
Percy stared at him with astonishment.
“It’s all very fine!” cried Mr William Forth Burge. “Every one who don’t do just as you like is a cad, I suppose. People have often called me a cad because I’ve not had so good an education and can’t talk and speak like they do; and sometimes the cads are on the other side.”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” faltered Percy.
“Then don’t you call people cads, young fellow. Now then, you mean to give up all your stupid tricks, and to grow into a respectable man, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir; I’ll try,” said Percy humbly.
“Then just you go to your bedroom, brush that streaky hair off your forehead, take out that pin, and put on a different tie; and next time you get some clothes made, don’t have them cut like a stable-boy’s. It don’t fit with your position, my lad. Now, look sharp and get ready, for you’re going along with me.”
“Going with you, sir?”