“Oh, no, they won’t,” returned Bethia with dignity. “I’m not one that anybody could take liberties with, Mr. Fowler.”
He stood leaning against the table frowning.
“Will ye ax ’em rough-like, or will ye ax ’em civil?” he inquired, after ruminating for a while.
“Why, of course I shall be civil, Mr. Fowler.”
“Will ye ax ’em so civil as ye did ax I?” he insisted with a kind of roar.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” stammered the girl, taken aback for a moment. “Yes,” recovering herself, “certainly I shall. There’s no reason why I should make any difference between you and anybody else.”
“You tell I that to my face! You’ll go a-speakin’ ’em soft and a-smilin’ at ’em pretty, jist same as ye did do to I! Dalled if I do allow it! Dalled if I do, I say!”
“Really, Mr. Fowler,” said Bethia with spirit, “I don’t know what you mean. It’s very rude of you to talk to me like that, and I do not see why you should interfere. I shall be business-like and polite, as I always try to be with every one, and I shall be firm too. The Law will support me just the same as if I were a man.”
“Dalled if I do allow it,” repeated Jacob, still in a kind of muffled bellow. “A British ratepayer I be, and have a-been this twenty year and more, and I say I bain’t a-goin’ to allow it. I know my rights so well as any man, and I bain’t a-goin’ to be put upon by a ’ooman. I bain’t a-goin’ to allow any young faymale to be took out of her proper place and set up where she’s no business to be. I’ll have no faymale tax-collectors a-gaddin’ about this here parish if I can prevent it. I’ll protest, maid, see if I don’t, and, what’s more, not one farden o’ rates will I pay into any faymale hands.”
Bethia, more and more irritated by his manner, thought it time to assert herself finally; and withdrawing her hands from the basin of peas, and looking him full in the face, she returned, with great firmness, “Won’t you, Mr. Fowler? Then I’ll make you.”