“Like father, like son,” he said. “We know what your father was like.”
Bowden took his pipe from his mouth with a fist the size of a beefsteak.
“With the old lady settin’ there! Get out o’ my house!”
A wave of exasperated blood flooded Steer’s thin cheeks.
“You know right well that she hears naught.”
Bowden replaced his pipe. “’Tes no yuse tachin’ yu manners,” he muttered.
Something twitched in Steer’s lean throat, where the reddish-grey hair covered his Adam’s apple.
“I’ll give your son a week; and then look out.”
A chuckle pursued him to the door.