"You will deal handsomely by me," said the youth; "consider, 'tis not every son would ride through pelting rain and spoil his garments withal for——"
"Give it me, I say," cried the old man passionately.
Piers took from an inner pocket a letter, sealed with a big red seal. The squire's eyes gleamed as he took it and saw the handwriting of the address; his hand trembled as he tore away the seal and unfolded the paper. Then came a sudden change. The pallor of his cheeks became a deathly white, his features were distorted with rage, he muttered a curse and flung the letter to the floor.
"Gadzooks, 'tis not a billet-doux, then," piped his son, stooping to pick up the paper.
"Let it lie!" shouted the old man. "Lay not a finger on it, you—you puppy!"
"Why, there now," said the youth in an aggrieved tone. "That is all the thanks I get for adventuring myself in the fury of the elements, and ruining past cure as fine a coat as ever was seen in Spring Garden."
"Silence! Hold your foolish tongue! You're a useless fool! You're a scented fop, the mock of every farthing playwright in the kingdom. Heavens! what have I done that I should be cursed with a brainless, senseless coxcomb that can do nothing but squander good money in fal-lals and worse!"
"Odsnigs! 'tis most villainous injustice. I can do many things, egad. I can make a good leg, and trounce a watchman, and pink a cit, and——"
"Out of my sight, out of my sight!" cried the exasperated father, stepping forward with uplifted hand as though to strike the poor fool.
"Zoons! I protest this——"