"Bless you all! I think I'll go home."
"Not yet, Mr. Tulip," said Ben; "you had better sit down again—we've got something to say to you."
"Young man, young man, let me pass. If you do not, you will endanger your soul."
"I aint got none," said Ben; "I'm only a beef-eater, and don't pretend to such luxuries."
"The heathen!" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, "the horrid heathen! but there's one consolation, and that is, that he will be fried in his own fat for everlasting."
"Oh, that's nothing," said Ben; "I think I shall like it, especially if it's any pleasure to you. I suppose that's what you call a Christian consolation. Will you sit down, Mr. Tulip?"
"My name aint Tulip, but Lupin; but if you wish it, I don't mind sitting down, of course."
The beef-eater, with a movement of his foot, kicked away the reverend gentleman's chair, and down he sat with a dab upon the floor.
"My dear," said Mr. Oakley to Johanna, "you go to bed, and then your mother can't say you have anything to do with this affair. I intend to rid my house of this man. Good night, my dear, good night."
Johanna kissed her father on the cheek, and then left the room, not at all sorry that so vigorous a movement was about being made for the suppression of Mr. Lupin. When she was gone, Mrs. Oakley spoke, saying—