“I won’t go with you,” said Tom, resolutely. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you. You haven’t got anything to do with me.”
“Haven’t I, I should like to know? Aint I your granny?”
“No, you aint.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Mrs. Walsh, rather taken aback.
“You aint any relation of mine. I don’t know where you got hold of me; but I won’t own such an old drunkard for a granny.”
“Come along!” said granny, fiercely. “You’ll pay for this, miss.”
“Help!” exclaimed Tom, finding that she was likely to be carried away against her will, at the same time struggling violently.
“What’s the matter?” asked a gentleman, who had just come out of the restaurant.
“It’s my grand-child, sir,” said Mrs. Walsh, obsequiously. “She run away from me, and now she don’t want to go back.”
“She hasn’t got anything to do with me,” said Tom. “Help!”