As mother and daughter retired, Quinney exclaimed, more to himself than to James:
"When I think of what I've done for them two thankless females!"
"What have you done?" asked James.
"Slaved for 'em for twenty years! Sweated blood, I have! Thanks to me, they've lived in cotton-wool, able to take it easy all the time. Enough o' that! What you got to say to me—alone? Hey?"
"Can't you guess? Didn't you overhear just now what I said to Posy? I told her that I thought I could deal with you, and that the time had come to do it."
"Deal away, my lad. Pull the cards out o' yer sleeve. Lay 'em on the table."
"My cards, sir, are chairs."
"Chairs? You gone potty, too?"
"Chairs. The chairs which Mr. Tomlin bought for fifty pounds; the chairs which I 'restored'; the chairs which were done up with old needlework covers taken from other chairs; the chairs which you put up at Christopher's and bought in after spirited bidding—faked bidding—for nine hundred pounds; the chairs which you sold to Mr. Hunsaker this morning for eleven hundred; the chairs which you ordered me to pack at once. Nice little tale to tell Mr. Hunsaker, when he calls to-morrow! Nice little bit of 'copy' for the newspapers."
We know that this young fellow rehearsed his speeches. He had rehearsed this. It flowed smoothly from his lips.