One thing was clear. I ought to keep faith with the others who had worked when Philip would not. Charles should not be turned out of his part. I rather hustled over the question of a new part for Mr. Clinton in my mind. I disliked him, and did not want to introduce him. I said to myself that it was quite unreasonable—out of the question in fact—and I prepared to say so to Philip.
Of course he was furious—that I knew he would be; but I was firm.
"Charles can be the Old Father, and the Family Servant too," said he. "They're both good parts."
"Then give them to Mr. Clinton," said I, well knowing that he would not. "Charles has taken a great deal of pains with his part, and these are his holidays as well as yours, and the Prince shall not be taken from him."
"Well, I say it shall. And Charles may be uncommonly glad if I let him act at all after the way he behaved yesterday."
"The way you behaved, you, mean," said I—for my temper was slipping from my grasp;—"you might have broken his neck."
"All the more danger in his provoking me, and in your encouraging him."
I began to feel giddy, which is always a bad sign with us. It rang in my mind's ear that this was what came of being forbearing with a bully like Philip. But I still tried to speak quietly.
"If you think," said I through my teeth, "that I am going to let you knock the others about, and rough-ride it over our theatricals, you are mistaken."
"Your theatricals!" cried Philip, mimicking me. "I like that! Whom do the properties belong to, pray?"