“You and I had better understand one another at once,” said Mr Ratman.
“Why not? I flatter myself I understand you perfectly already.”
“Do you? Now, look here, my fine fellow. It’s easy for you to give yourself airs, but I know a good deal more about you than I dare say you would care to own yourself. If you’ll take my advice, the sooner you clear out of here the better. You may think you’ve a snug berth here, and flatter yourself you pass for a saint with your pupil and his mamma, but, let me tell you, I could open their eyes to a thing or two which would alter their opinion, as well as the opinion of certain young lady friends who—”
“Who do not require the assistance of Robert Ratman to keep them out of bad company,” retorted the tutor, hotly for him.
“No, but they may require the assistance of Robert Ratman to keep them from being ashamed of their own father, Mr Armstrong.”
The tutor glared through his glass. He understood this threat.
“What of that?” said he.
“Merely,” said Mr Ratman, “that it depends pretty much on you whether they are to continue to believe themselves the children of an officer and a gentleman, or of a—a fugitive from justice. That’s the position, Mr Tutor. The responsibility rests with you. If you choose to go, I shall not undeceive them; if you don’t—well, it may suit me to open their eyes; there!”
The tutor inspected his man from top to toe in a dangerous way, which made the recipient of the stare decidedly uncomfortable. Then, pulling himself together with an effort, Mr Armstrong coolly inquired, “Have you anything more to say?”
“That’s about enough, isn’t it? I give you a week.”