PHIL BREAKS HIS WORD.
BIG BEN was striking ten as Phil reached home that night. He had stayed over time at business to compensate for his long absence in the middle of the day, and had walked leisurely back to Swift Street. He did not care to hurry himself, for he knew that Millie would not be awaiting him, and even Miss Crawford's drawing-box could not make up for her absence.
On entering the room he found his uncle already there. He was seated at the table with bread and cheese and a jug of ale before him. Phil saw by his heated face and bloodshot eyes that he had been drinking. A feeling of intense disgust and dislike arose in the boy's heart, but he said nothing. He took a chair and sat down as far-away from the table as he could.
"Come here, can't you?" said his uncle.
"Yes, when you have finished," replied his nephew coolly.
"O! O!" returned his uncle in what he intended to be a satirical voice, but his words were so indistinct that Phil could hardly catch them, "so you're such a grand gentleman that you can't eat with poor men like your relations. A pity you should be dependent upon them, isn't it?"
Phil started up with an angry retort upon his lips, when lo! Millie's gentle face and pleading eyes arose in his memory. He sat down again, and was silent.
"Come here, I say, can't you?" began Richard Hunt again.
"No, I won't," said Phil doggedly. "Take your own time; when you have finished, I'll have my supper."
"If you don't come to the table this minute, I'll turn you out of my house, do you hear?" growled the wretched man.