On Wednesday afternoon three men came down Barrel Alley armed with a paper for Bill Slade. It was full of “whereases” and “now, therefores” and other things which Bill did not comprehend, but he understood well enough the meaning of their errand.
The stone which Tom had thrown at John Temple had rebounded with terrific force!
One man would have been enough, goodness knows, to do the job in hand, for there were only six or seven pieces of furniture. They got in each other’s way a good deal and spat tobacco juice, while poor helpless, inefficient Bill Slade stood by watching them.
From various windows and doors the neighbors watched them too, and some congratulated themselves that their own rents were paid, while others wondered what would become of poor Tom now.
This was the scene which greeted Tom as he came down Barrel Alley from school.
“Wot are they doin’?” he asked.
“Can’t you see wot they’re a-doin’?” roared his father. “’Tain’t them that’s doin’ it neither, it’s you—you done it!! It’s you took the roof from over my head, you and old John Temple!” Advancing menacingly, he poured forth a torrent of abuse at his wretched son.
“The two o’ yez done it! You wid yer rocks and him wid his dirty marshals and judges! I’ll get the both o’ yez yet! Ye sneakin’ rat!”
He would have struck Tom to the ground if Mrs. O’Connor, a mournful figure in shoddy black, had not crossed the street and forced her way between them.
“’Twas you done it, Bill Slade, and not him, and don’t you lay yer hand on him—mind that! ‘Twas you an’ your whiskey bottle done it, you lazy loafer, an’ the street is well rid o’ you. Don’t you raise your hand agin me, Bill Slade—I’m not afraid o’ the likes o’ you. I tell you ’twas you sent the poor boy’s mother to her grave—you and your whiskey bottle!”