This fond uncle was not in a mood to be contradicted, and then patted with a soft title. He turned fiercely on Chauncy, his face swelling and darkening, his crooked eye flashing, and his voice roughening.
“What are you—you—makin’ opposition for? Who raised you,—who—raised you, sir,—yes, raised from—from obscurity, and gave you a place in—in—a fust class mercantile house? What—why—do you oppose for? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir, yes—and—take that.”
The uncle here lost control of the temper hidden behind the usually mild voice. He lost control of himself altogether, for advancing toward the astonished Chauncy, who was peacefully but decidedly rubbing his lofty knob of hair, he suddenly and violently pushed his beloved nephew over into the water. There was a fearful agitation, for a few moments, down in that hitherto peaceful pool; but Chauncy soon crawled out of the unexpected bath.
“That’s—that’s mean!” he ejaculated, spitting the water from his mouth and shaking it off from his dripping clothes. Baggs, though, did not hear him. He was angrily moving away.
CHAPTER XV.
THE BARNEY LITERARY CLUB.
Cook Charlie was a blessing. Nature had made him that handsome present of a happy temperament, and common sense had taught him to take good care of the gift.
“I know my man,” said Keeper Barney when he hired him. “He’s worth a fortin.”