The retort was so obvious that it had slipped from Rodney's lips almost before he was aware. Its effect on Mr. Patterson was so great that for some moments his nephew was convinced that that apoplectic fit which he had so often seen threatening was hideously close. Mr. Patterson himself seemed conscious of the risk he ran. He made a perceptible effort to regain self-control--a painful one it evidently was. He put his finger to his collar as if to loosen it; one could see that his hand shook, his lips trembled, beads of sweat stood on his brow. Probably more than a minute had passed before he felt himself in a condition to speak again. Still his voice was a little hoarse, his utterance not quite clear.
"My lad, if I could have got at you this morning I should have killed you."
"Should you, indeed, sir. Pray why?"
The young man had been observing his senior's plight with a sense, not only of amusement, but of positive relish. He was conscious that a spirit of malice had entered into him. He was prepared to return insolence with insolence. This bloated relative of his should this time not find him disposed to cringe.
Still with his finger to his neck, as if he would have liked to loosen his collar, Mr. Patterson went on, yet a little huskily:
"Luckily I didn't get at you, because I'll do worse than kill you, now."
"I thank you for your kind intentions, sir. You have not yet told me what I have done to deserve them."
"You've been getting at that girl of mine again."
"You use unpleasant phrases, sir. I'm afraid you have been drinking."
"You young swine! In spite of what I told you, last night you took her out with you again to dinner."