‘Now, then!’ repeated Sharpe threateningly.
Andrew Burge drew himself up.
‘This contumacious behaviour, Mr. Sharpe, sir,’ he said, ‘has no effect upon me whatever. My intentions is to make an equivocal offer of marriage to Mrs. Fiander, and from her lips alone will I take my answer. I shall sit in this chair,’ he continued firmly, ‘until the lady comes in person to give me her responsory.’
‘You will, will ye?’ bellowed Isaac. ‘Ye be a-goin’ to sit there, be ye? Ye bain’t, though! That there chair’s my chair I’d have ye know, and I’ll soon larn ye who have got the right to sit in it.’
With that he lunged forward, thrusting the cluster of five so suddenly into Andrew’s face that that gentleman threw himself heavily backwards, and the chair, being unprovided with castors, overbalanced, and fell violently to the ground.
Undeterred by the catastrophe and the peculiar appearance presented by Mr. Burge’s flushed and dazed countenance as he stared helplessly upwards, contemplating probably a thousand stars, Isaac seized the chair by the legs and began to drag it across the floor, bumping its occupant unmercifully in his exertions. His own countenance was, indeed, almost as purple in hue as Andrew’s by the time he reached the door, which was obligingly thrown open as he neared it, revealing Sam Belbin’s delighted face. The alarmed countenances of the maids peered over his shoulder, while a few manly forms were huddled together in the passage. Mr. Sharpe’s extremely audible tones had attracted many eager listeners; nothing so exciting had taken place at Littlecomb since Elias Fiander’s funeral.
‘Here, you chaps,’ cried the farmer, still tugging violently at the chair, and panting with his efforts; ‘here, come on, some on you. Lend a hand to get rid o’ this here carcase.’
Nothing loath, the men sprang forward, and between them the chair with its occupant was dragged out of the room and along the passage.
‘What’s he been a-doin’ of?’ inquired Sam with great gusto, as he dropped his particular chair-leg on the cobble-stones in the yard.
‘Never you mind what he’ve been a-doin’ of,’ returned Isaac, straightening himself and wiping his brow. ‘Get him out of that there chair, and trot him off the premises—that’s what you ’ve a-got to do.’