The hopes of those who wished to settle matters amicably, however, were dashed by the fiery tailor, who, still smarting under the contemptuous tones and words of the mate, suddenly sprang to his feet and suggested that, as Malines knew nothing about agriculture, no land at all should be apportioned to him, but that he should be set to fishing, or some such dirty work, for the benefit of the community.
This was too much for Malines, who strode towards Buxley with clenched fists and furious looks, evidently intending to knock him down. To the surprise and amusement of every one, Buxley threw himself into a pugilistic attitude, and shouted defiantly, “Come on!” There is no saying how the thing would have ended, if Dominick had not quickly interposed.
“Come, Mr Malines,” he said, “it is not very creditable in you to threaten a man so very much smaller than yourself.”
“Out of my road,” shouted the mate, fiercely, “we don’t want gentlemen to lord it over us.”
“No, nor yet blackguards,” growled a voice in the crowd.
This so angered Malines, that he dealt Dominick a sounding slap on the cheek.
For a moment there was dead silence, as the two men glared at each other. If it had been a blow the youth might have stood it better, but there was something so stinging, as well as insulting, in a slap, that for a moment he felt as if his chest would explode. Before he could act, however, Joe Binney thrust his bulky form between the men.
“Leave’m to me, master,” he said, quietly turning up his wristbands, “I’m used to this sort o’ thing, an’—”
“No, no,” said Dominick, in a deep, decided voice, “listen.”
He grasped Joe by the arm, and whispered a few words in his ear. A smile broke over the man’s face, and he shook his head doubtfully.