"Are you aware that I am your natural guardian, sir—that the law delegates to me supreme authority over you, you young reprobate?" demanded Mr. Kenyon, working himself into an ungovernable passion.
Oliver did not reply.
"Speak, I order you!" exclaimed his step-father, stamping his foot.
"I did not speak sooner because you called me a young reprobate, sir. I answer now that I will sooner leave your house and go out into the world to shift for myself than allow Roland to trample upon me and order me about like a dog."
"Enough of this! Roland, go downstairs and get my cane."
"I'll go," said Roland, with alacrity.
It was a welcome commission. Smarting with a sense of his own recent humiliating defeat, nothing could be sweeter than to see his victorious adversary beaten in his own presence. Of course he understood that it was for this purpose his father wanted the cane.
There was silence in the room while Rolandwas gone. Oliver was rapidly making up his mind what he would do.
Roland ran upstairs with the cane.
"Here it is, father," he said, extending it to Mr. Kenyon.