“For drink, I suppose,” said Mrs. Jones rather reluctantly.
“For drink!” repeated our hero. “Are you not satisfied with taking all my uncle’s earnings, but you must get my aunt to work her fingers to the bone and then keep back her money in payment for your rum?”
“Upon my word, Robert Coverdale,” said Mrs. Jones sharply, “you are very impudent! How dare you speak to me in that way?”
“How dare you treat my aunt so meanly?” retorted Robert with righteous indignation.
“I won’t stand your impudence—so there! Your aunt needn’t expect any more sewing to do,” said the angry landlady.
“She wouldn’t take any more of your work if that is the way you mean to pay her.”
“I won’t stand here talking with you. I’ll get Mr. Jones to give you a horsewhipping—see if I don’t!”
“He’d better not try it,” said Robert with flashing eyes.
The door was slammed in his face, and, angry and disappointed, he walked slowly out of the tavern yard.