“It’s a lie!” he roared; “he’s not out. Didn’t he tell you to say he was out?”
“Yes, sir,” I faltered, and he strode straight in; and as I followed, I saw him catch Mr Blakeford by the throat and pin him in his chair.
“Fetch the constable, Antony,” cried Mr Blakeford. “Quick!”
“Stop where you are, you young dog,” roared the farmer, “or I’ll kill you. Now, you scoundrel, what do you mean by seizing my goods, by putting your rascally man in possession after promising me in this office that you would never put me to any inconvenience?”
“If you have any complaint to make against me, Mr Wooster, employ your solicitor,” cried Mr Blakeford hoarsely.
“Hang your solicitor and the whole crew, you scoundrelly serpent!” roared the farmer. “You’ve ruined me, as you ruined that poor boy’s father, and a score more before him.”
“Antony—a constable—help!” cried Mr Blakeford, for he was yellow and green with fear.
“If Antony Grace stirs, I’ll crush him like I would a snail,” cried the farmer. “And now look here, you crawling snake; I trusted you because I didn’t believe any one could deliberately ruin another for the sake of a few pounds.”
“Mr Wooster, if you dare to strike me,” cried the miserable coward, “I shall proceed against you for assault.”
“So you may,” cried the farmer, with a bitter laugh; “and as you’ve got every penny I had, much good may it do you. Look here, Blakeford; if I knew that I should be transported for life to Botany Bay for what I’m going to do, I’d do it now.”