“I should be straange and proud to feel as I’d browt a man o’ Joe Banks’s power and common sense into the ways o’ wisdom, and propose him as a member o’ our society,” said Sim.
“I dare say thee would, Sim; strange and glad. But that’s not what thee come to say. Out wi’ it, mun; out wi’ it.”
“That is what I come to say, Joe,” said Sim, turning white, as he saw the fierce look in Joe’s eyes.
“Nay; thee said something ’bout my lass.”
“I only were going to say as I didn’t like to see such a worthy man serving faithful a mester as was trying to do him an injury.”
“What do you mean?” said Joe, quite calmly.
Sim hesitated, but he felt obliged to speak, so calmly firm was the look fixed upon him, though at the same time the foreman’s fists were clenched most ominously.
“Well, Joe,” said Sim, with a burst, “Dicky Glaire’s allus after thy bairn, and I saw him the other night, at nearly midnight, trying to drag her into the counting-house.”
“Thee lies, thee chattering, false—hearted maulkin!” roared Joe, taking the trembling man by the throat and shaking him till his teeth clicked together.
“Don’t! don’t! murder!” cried Sim, holding up his injured hand with the rag before Joe’s face. “Don’t ill-use a helpless man.”