"Keep off!" said Harry, his eyes flashing fire.
The major was so angry that he could do nothing; and while they were thus confronting each other, Joe Flint staggered into the counting room. Intoxicated as he was, he readily discovered the position of affairs between the belligerents.
"Look here—hic—Major Phillips," said he, reeling up to his employer, "I love you—hic—Major Phillips, like a—hic—like a brother, Major Phillips; but if you touch that boy, Major Phillips, I'll—hic—you touch me, Major Phillips. That's all."
"Go home, Joe," replied the stable keeper, his attention diverted from Harry to the new combatant. "You are drunk."
"I know I'm drunk, Major Phillips. I'm as drunk as a beast; but I ain't—hic—dead drunk. I know what I'm about."
"No, you don't. Go home."
"Yes, I dzoo. I'm a brute; I'm a hog; I'm a—dzwhat you call it? I'm a villain."
Joe tried to straighten himself up, and look at his employer; but he could not, and suddenly bursting into tears, he threw himself heavily into a chair, weeping bitterly in his inebriate paroxysm. He sobbed, and groaned, and talked incoherently. He acted strangely, and Major Phillips's attention was excited.
"What is the matter, Joe?" he asked; and his anger towards Harry seemed to have subsided.
"I tell you I am a villain, Major Phillips," blubbered Joe.