The man laughed.
“I’ll not have ye laugh,” said my uncle, “at Dannie. Ye’ve tried my patience enough with scorn o’ that child.” He tapped the table imperatively, continuing with rising anger, and scowled in a way I had learned to take warning from. “No more o’ that!” says he. “Ye’ve no call t’ laugh at the lad.”
The laughter ceased––failed ridiculously. It proved my uncle’s mastery of the situation. The man might bluster, but was in a moment reduced.
“Top,” said the stranger, leaning forward a little, “I have asked you a simple question: Will you or won’t you?”
“I will not!”
In exasperation the man struck my uncle on the cheek.
“I’ll not hurt ye for that!” said my uncle, gently. “I’ll not hurt ye, man, for that!”
He was struck again. “There will come an extremity,” the stranger calmly added, “when I shall find it expedient to have you assassinated.”
“I’ll not hurt ye for the threat,” said my uncle. “But man,” he cried, in savage anger, “an you keeps me from workin’ my will with the lad––”