“Good morning, Clarence,” he said.
“Good morning, sir,” responded the other, with lowering brows and close-shut mouth.
“I suppose you were coming to the George to me? Come along, I've had no breakfast; and let's hope, my boy, that you're in a better mind than last night.”
“Look here, sir,” said Clarence; “you might as well ask one of those houses to walk with you to the George, and show a better mind. I'm of one mind, and one only. I'll marry Phœbe Beecham, whether you like it or not, and no other woman in this world.”
“Is that your last word?” said the father, curiously repeating, without being aware of it, his question of the previous night.
“That's my last word,” said the son, contemplating his father sullenly from under the heavy lids of his obstinate eyes.
“Very well,” said Mr. Copperhead; “then come along to breakfast, for I'm hungry, and we can talk it over there.”