Angry murmurs arose from the crowd, but Barjona's jaw stiffened and there was no hint of yielding in his tone.
"Right's right," he said ... "that rose-tree's mine ... took a partic'lar fancy to it ... won't part with it for nob'dy."
Ted fumbled in his pocket and produced a wash-leather bag, the neck of which was tied round with string. With shaking fingers he felt for a coin and drew out a half-sovereign.
"I'll pay ye for't, Barjona. Sitha, I'll give ye ten shillin' for t' plant."
"Put yer brass back, Ted ... brass willn't buy it ... took my fancy, that tree has ... you mun buy another."
Sar'-Ann's mother pushed her way through and strode up to the stubborn, grasping man, and shook her fist in his face.
"You miserable old devil!" she cried. "Oh, if I were only a man I'd thrash ye while ever I could stand over ye. Yes, I would, if they sent me to gaol for 't. I wish the earth 'ud open an' swalla' ye up. But t' varry worms 'ud turn at ye."
Barjona thrust his hands deep into his trousers' pockets and assumed an air of weariness.
"Isn't there a man among ye?" continued the infuriated woman. "Ben, haven't ye spunk enough to fell 'im to t' ground? Eh, these men! God forgive me 'at I call 'em men!"
She fell back, and burst into hysterical tears, and Ben made another attempt.