"Then you must move out."
"I'm just moving."
"But I shall seize the furniture," said the agent. "I can't allow you to move that."
"Take it, if you want to," said Martin, in a coarse laugh. "I've just sold it to this man here."
"I don't believe it," said the agent, angrily.
"Oh, well, it's nothing to me. Settle it between you," said Martin, carelessly, going downstairs, leaving the dealer and the agent to an animated and angry dispute over the broken-down bedstead.
"That was neatly done," thought Martin, laughing to himself. "I don't care which gets it. I suppose they'll have a fight about it. Now I must have a good breakfast, and then for a talk with that young rebel. He thinks he's cheated me cleverly, but I'm not through with him yet."
Martin strayed into a restaurant at the lower end of Chatham Street, where he made a satisfactory breakfast, with as little regard to expense as if his resources were ample. Indeed, he felt little trouble about the future, being fully determined that in the future, as in the past, Rufus should support him.
"Aint I entitled to his earnings, I'd like to know till he comes of age?" thought Martin.
So he convinced himself readily that law and right were on his side, and it was with no misgivings as to the result that he approached the newsboy whom, from some distance away, he saw actively engaged in plying his business.