Philip looked hard at him, then his face became hard as marble, and he said, 'So—we meet—Schofield.'
The man had forgotten to remove his hat when attempting to put the strap over his head, and so failed; he at once hastily passed the cane into the hand that held the bag, and said with an air of forced joviality, as he extended his right palm, 'How d'y' do, my boy? glad to see you.'
'Put down that bag,' ordered Philip, ignoring the offered hand. 'Or, here, give it me.'
'No, thank y', my son; got my night togs in there—comb and brush and whisker-curlers.'
'Schofield,' said Philip grimly, 'I have sent for the constable. He will be here in two or three minutes. Give me up that bag. I shall have you arrested in this room.'
'No, you won't, my dear boy,' answered the fellow. 'But, by jove, it isn't kindly—not kindly—hardly what we look for in our children. But, Lord bless you! bless you, the world is becoming frightfully neglectful of the commandment with promise—with promise, my son.'
The impudence of the man, his audacity, and his manner, worked Philip into anger; not the cold bitter anger that had risen before, but hot and flaming.
'Come, no nonsense. Give me that bag now, or I'll take it from you. There is a warrant out for your arrest as Beaple Yeo.' He put his hand forward to snatch the bag from the fellow, but Beaple Yeo—or Schofield quickly brought his stick round.
'My pippin!' said he, 'take care; I have a needle in this, that will run you through if you touch me—though you are my son.'
Philip closed with him, wrenched the stick from him and placed it behind him. But Beaple would not be deprived of his weapon without an effort to recover it, and he made a rush at Philip to beat him aside, as he drew back, which would have led to a fresh test of strength, had not Salome thrown herself between them, and clinging to her husband said. 'Oh, Philip! Philip! He is my father!'