“We have had a-plenty of words,” growled the man; “a-plenty, good lady, and we’ll have no more. A supper I want at once, and a supper I will have, so have some of your kitchen folk serve it to me, or upon my soul I will serve it myself!”
As the landlady said nothing, the man with the yellow teeth arose; and as he did so a door leading to an inner room opened and a young girl appeared.
“My father is quite comfortable now,” she said to the landlady. “Thanks to your kindness in so looking after us,” she added, with a grateful look and smile. “He says he would like to eat something if it is quite ready; and that is a very encouraging sign, indeed.”
“His supper is just right,” said the landlady, her lips set firmly together, as she gave the insistent guest a defiant look. She had crossed about half the room when he stepped before her. To avoid him she moved aside; then his huge hand closed upon her arm; and startled, she uttered a smothered shriek. At this there came a feeble answering cry; in the doorway where the girl had appeared, stood a tottering old gentleman in a dressing gown and supporting himself by means of a stick.
“Daughter,” he cried, “Betsy, my dear!”
“Here, father,” and the girl ran to him.
“I thought I heard you cry out,” said the old man. “And I came to your assistance.”
The man with the yellow smile laughed loudly at this.
“Good for you, old rooster,” said he, highly entertained. “You are a game one, but over old to be of use. And now, mistress,” to the landlady, “will you out of my way while I see to my boiled mutton?”
He gave her a fling at which she cried out once more. The old man tottered forward, his stick grasped in one quavering hand. But his dim old eyes flashed for all his feebleness, and he cried out bravely: