“No, you don’t!” answered Tim. “You must come for it yourself if you want it.”
Granny began to find that she must do her own errands. It was an undertaking to go down three flights of stairs to the court and return again, especially for one so indolent as herself; but there seemed to be no other way. She inwardly resolved to wreak additional vengeance upon Tom, and so get what satisfaction she could in this way. Muttering imprecations which I do not care to repeat, she started downstairs, determined to try the stick first upon Tim. But when she reached the court Tim had disappeared. He had divined her benevolent intentions, and thought it would be altogether wiser for him to be out of the way.
Granny picked up the stick, and, after a sharp glance around the court, commenced the ascent. She did not stop to rest, being spurred on by the anticipated pleasure of flogging Tom. So, in a briefer space of time than could have been expected, she once more arrived at her own door.
But Tom had not been idle.
No sooner was the door closed than Tom turned the key in the lock, making herself a voluntary prisoner, but having in the key the means of deliverance.
Granny tried the door, and, to her inexpressible wrath, discovered Tom’s new audacity.
“Open the door, you trollop!” she screamed.
“You’ll lick me,” said Tom.
“I’ll give you the wust lickin’ you ever had.”
“Then I shan’t let you in,” said Tom, defiantly.