“Don’t let anybody here think I’m a child,” continued Richard Glaire, who, the danger passed, was now white with passion; “and don’t let anybody here, mother or foreman, or stranger, think I’m a man to be played with.”
“There’s nobody thinks nothing at all, my lad,” said Joe Banks, sharply, “only that if the parson there hadn’t come on as he did, you’d have been a pretty figure by this time, one as would ha’ made your poor moother shoother again.”
“Hold your tongue, sir; how dare you speak to me like that!” roared Richard.
“How dare I speak to you like that, my lad?” said the foreman, smiling. “Well, because I’ve been like a sort of second father to you in the works, and if you’d listened to me, instead of being so arbitrary, there wouldn’t ha’ been this row.”
“You insolent—”
“Oh yes, all raight, Master Richard, all raight,” said the foreman, bluffly.
“Dick, dear Dick,” whispered Eve, clinging to his arm; but he shook her off.
“Hold your tongue, will you!” he shrieked. “Look here, you Banks,” he cried, “if you dare to speak to me like that I’ll discharge you; I will, for an example.”
Banks laughed, and followed the raving man to the other end of the great counting-house to whisper:
“No you wean’t, lad, not you.”