"You will have a chance to meet him. He told me he was going to call upon you there he is now, entering the gate."
Stephen was glad to hear it. He wanted to empty the vials of his wrath on the audacious offender. He prided himself on his grand manner.
He was accustomed to seeing men of the stamp of this stranger quail before him and show nervous alarm at his rebukes. He had no doubt that his majestic wrath would overwhelm the shabby outcast who had audaciously assaulted his son and heir.
He rose to his feet, and stood the personification of haughty displeasure as the poor man, who dared his anger, walked composedly up the path. He now stood by the piazza steps.
"It is well you have come here," began the squire in a dignified tone. "My son tells me that you have committed an unprovoked outrage upon him in dragging him from his wheel. I can only conclude that you are under the influence of liquor."
Stephen Ray waited curiously to hear what the man would say. He was prepared for humble apologies.
"I am no more drunk than yourself, if that is what you mean, Stephen Ray," was the unexpected reply.
Squire Ray was outraged and scandalized.
"You must be drunk or you would not dare to talk in this way. Who authorized you to address me in this familiar way?"
"You are only a man, I believe, Stephen Ray. I have addressed you as respectfully as you have spoken to me."