They all became grave with his gravity.
“No personal feelings of my own shall check me from saying that a man who stands up in a public place and perpetrates criminal libel deserves the severest punishment that the law has for such a crime. But under the circumstances I ask from you this one bit of forbearance: It is that you will forget what this person has said here and allow him to go, on condition that he will not repeat his offence, here or elsewhere. If he does—” the Squire’s face grew hard and stern—“I will prosecute him myself, brother though he be of mine.”
For a moment there was utter silence, and then, with callused palms and thudding boots, the voters roared their applause.
Hiram strode off the settee and into the centre aisle, and was about to speak, his face black with rage.
“Not another word, sir,” the Squire shouted. “Not one word, or I’ll withdraw my protection.”
But Hiram whirled at the door on his way out, unable to repress the furious indignation that surged to his lips. He began to understand the manner in which he had been cheated out of his vengeance. His anger shifted from the voters, who had so blindly followed, to the man who had led them—and that man was his brother.
“I’ll bet ye ten thousand dollars to one that I know who lifted the lid that let the old rat out of his trap,” he shouted. His eye flamed redly on Phineas. “It took ready money to do it. It was your money, Phin Look! Some of it was money that I earnt! Our old father turned in his grave this day. I stand here before the whole of you and tell you, Phin Look, that you are a——”
“Constables, put that man out of this meeting!” commanded the Squire in stentorian tones, and three brawny men who had followed Hiram down the aisle and appeared to be awaiting just such an order hustled the showman out of doors with much alacrity.
Simon Peak marshalled the band behind him, and in a little while the big waggon went rumbling out of the yard.
But the band did not play.