“All right,” whimpered Sim. “All right, Mr Richard Glaire, Esquire. I’ve stood up for you enew lately; now tak’ care of yoursen.”
“I’ll break your head, you scoundrel, if you don’t go,” roared Richard.
Sim rubbed the dust from his person and shook himself straight, looking side-wise the while at his assailant before sidling off, shaking his fist; and then, when about fifty yards away, turning round and shouting:
“I’ll be even with you for this, Dick Glaire.”
Richard made a rush at him, when Sim took to his heels and ran, while the young man turned back to where Joe Banks stood holding poor Daisy’s basket and shawl.
“Master Dick,” said the old man sternly, “I want to ask thee a question, and I want yow, as your father’s son, to give me a straightforward answer.”
“But what does this all mean, Joe? what’s this about Daisy?”
“Answer my question,” said the old man, sternly; and then he paused for a moment, as he fixed his clear eyes on the young man’s shifty face, before saying hoarsely:
“Were you out walking wi’ my lass, Daisy, last night?”
“No,” said Richard, firmly; “certainly not.”