“Nothing would have pleased me better, James,” said his brother coldly; “but the riot was getting too loud—I was obliged to come.”
“Then, now go and wait. The dinner will be ready soon.”
“That it just won’t,” cried cook viciously; “and if you’re a gentleman, though you are master’s own brother, you’ll come and help me.”
“There is no need,” said Uncle Richard, in his quiet way. “Mr Brandon is not going to beat his nephew. He was very angry, no doubt, but that’s all over now; and as to the dinner, my dear madam, while I act the peacemaker, I hope you will bear in mind that I am very hungry, and should be very glad of some of the good things you were preparing, when in your genuine, womanly way you felt yourself called upon to defend this boy.”
“Look here, Richard,” began Mr Brandon.
“Tut—tut—tut, man, be quiet. Tom, my lad, go up-stairs to your room and make yourself decent. Fanny, my good girl, you are spoiling an expensive dress put on in my honour. Mary, my child, there are two or three sharp pieces of the broken vase here. Would you mind? Thank you. These things are very sharp. Now you, Sam, jump up, and go and wash yourself. Do you hear?”
“Confound it all, Richard!” began Mr Brandon.
“Tut—tut, quiet, man!” said Uncle Richard; “there’s nothing the matter with the fellow.”
“He’s half killed—dangerously hurt,” protested Mrs Brandon.
“Not he, my dear Fanny. I saw him watching the proceedings with one eye open. Come, Sam, no nonsense. Get up, and go to your room; and don’t you dare to interfere with Tom, because if you do I shall come up myself. Let me see; I think I have a bit of a hold on you, have I not?”