“That would be equitable,” said the Judge.
“I am afraid,” I made answer to this, “that Mr. Wallingford will not consent to any postponement.”
“He won't? The hound!” I was startled by the fierceness of Dewey's tone of voice, and, turning to look at him, saw on his countenance an expression of malignant hatred.
“Ralph!” said Judge Bigelow, in a warning voice.
“I can't repress my indignation,” answered the nephew. “What demons from the nether hell have conspired to give him power over us? If it had been any other man in the world I could have borne it patiently.”
“Ralph! Ralph!” interposed the Judge, in a deprecating voice.
“It is no use, uncle. I cannot keep down my feeling,” was replied. “To see you hunted by this hound, who owes you everything.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Dewey,” said I, “but I cannot hear such language used towards a gentleman of irreproachable character. Mr. Wallingford is not entitled to the epithet you give; and I warn you, not to repeat that, or anything like it, in my presence.”
“You warn me!”
A gleam shot towards me from his evil eyes.