Mr. Carrydot's eyes glared with indignation, and beamed with ousters and ejectments, as he repeated the words, "What's that to you, sir!"
"Ay!" replied Cannon, giving the table a liberal thump. "What the devil is it to me?"
"Why, his lordship desires that you will vote for Mr. Eelback."
"Then tell his lordship that I'd sooner see Mr. Eelback skinned alive!"
Cannon was furious. Carrydot was calm, nay, he smiled; for the fury of Cannon spoke volumes of prospective foreclosures, and distresses, and rescous, and replevin, and denial; more especially as Cannon seemed to be a good man, with a silver urn and tea-pot on the table, and every appearance of wealth and independence about the goods and chattels on the premises. "You seem to forget, sir," he quietly replied, "that you only hold Wick-Hall upon a lease, and that your interest in the lease expires next Michaelmas."
This was a thunderbolt to Cannon, who had laid out upwards of three thousand pounds on Wick-Hall.
"What, sir, if I refuse to vote for this Eelback?"
"You must turn out, sir, nolens volens; so sayeth the law!"
"But justice, sir?"
"So sayeth the law. Every man has a right to do what he likes with his own, Mr. Cannon."