"Do you hear that, Travers?" asked Brandon, by a ludicrous transition shedding maudlin tears. "Do you hear that ungrateful boy?"
Meanwhile, Mrs. Brandon, in accordance with Grit's request, had left the room.
Grit felt that the time had come for decisive measures. He was not a quarrelsome boy, nor was he given to fighting, but he had plenty of spirit, and he was deeply moved and provoked by the insolence of Travers.
Some consideration he perhaps owed to his mother's husband; but to his disreputable companion, none whatever.
"Mr. Travers," he said, with cool determination, turning toward the intruder, "did you hear me say that my mother desired you to leave the house?"
"I don't care that for your mother!" said Travers, snapping his fingers. "My friend Brandon——"
He did not complete the sentence. Grit could not restrain himself when he heard this insolent defiance of his mother, and, without a moment's hesitation, he approached Travers, with one sweep of his arm dashed the pipe he was smoking into a hundred pieces, and, seizing the astonished visitor by the shoulders, pushed him forcibly to the door and thrust him out.
Travers was so astonished that he was quite unable to resist, nor indeed was he a match for the strong and muscular boy in his present condition.
"Well, that beats all I ever heard of!" he muttered, as he stumbled into a sitting position on the door-step.
Brandon stared at Grit and his summary proceeding in a dazed manner.