“Silence there!” yelled the man, furiously.
“You cowardly fools! You worms who daren’t speak for yourselves! Silence, I say, and let one who dares speak for you.”
The Vicar stepped forward and laid his hand on the speaker’s shoulder.
“Drinkwater, my good fellow! My good friend! Pray be calm. You don’t know what you are saying!—you don’t know what you are saying!”
“Oh, yes, I do, Parson. Don’t you interfere,” added the man, fiercely.
“But, my dear sir—”
“Oh, yes, I know! I know you, too, better than you know yourself. You belong to his set. You side with the money. Make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness, as you’d say, with that with which he grinds down all these poor, shivering wretches—money, money, money! Piling up his money-bags, and making us slaves!”
“Drinkwater, I cannot stand and listen to this without raising my voice in protest.”
“Because it gives you a chance to preach,” said the man, with a bitter sneer.
Will’s father stepped forward, but the Vicar raised his hand.