Dawes, scowling in a parenthesis between the cracking of two stones, was understood to say that he was very well.
“I am afraid, Dawes,” said Mr. Meekin reproachfully, “that you have done yourself no good by your outburst in court on Monday. I understand that public opinion is quite incensed against you.”
Dawes, slowly arranging one large fragment of bluestone in a comfortable basin of smaller fragments, made no reply.
“I am afraid you lack patience, Dawes. You do not repent of your offences against the law, I fear.”
The only answer vouchsafed by the ironed man—if answer it could be called—was a savage blow, which split the stone into sudden fragments, and made the clergyman skip a step backward.
“You are a hardened ruffian, sir! Do you not hear me speak to you?”
“I hear you,” said Dawes, picking up another stone.
“Then listen respectfully, sir,” said Meekin, roseate with celestial anger. “You have all day to break those stones.”
“Yes, I have all day,” returned Rufus Dawes, with a dogged look upward, “and all next day, for that matter. Ugh!” and again the hammer descended.
“I came to console you, man—to console you,” says Meekin, indignant at the contempt with which his well-meant overtures had been received. “I wanted to give you some good advice!”