“Hadn’t we better give up?” said Mrs Lane, pitifully; and she glanced at Netta who trembled violently.
“I should think not, indeed,” said Mrs Jenkles. “Don’t you be afraid—they daren’t stop you.”
“But we just dare,” said Mrs Sturt, furiously. “Not a thing goes off till my bill’s paid.”
“And they don’t go off when it is! now then,” said Barney.
“Don’t let him touch those things,” said Mrs Sturt.
“Sam, you take that trunk down directly,” said Mrs Jenkles. “Now, my dear; come along.”
“All right,” said Sam, and he advanced to the trunk; but Barney pushed himself forward, and sat down upon the box; while, as Mrs Jenkles placed her arm round Netta, and led her towards the door, Mrs Sturt jerked herself to it, and placed her back against the panels.
“You’re a nice ’un, you are, Barney Sturt, Esquire, of the suburban races,” said Sam, good-temperedly; “but it aint no good, so get up, and let’s go quietly.”
Barney growled out an oath, and showed his teeth, as Mrs Lane came up to Sam, and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you much,” she said, with a shudder; “but I give up: we cannot go.”