“Are you going to give me my money?” demanded he, striding up to him.
“I’ve not got your money,” snarled the other, “I’m an honest man.”
He started back in alarm, and his wife gave a faint scream as Flower caught him by the collar, and, holding him against the wall, went through his pockets.
“Don’t hurt him,” cried the old woman; “he’s only a little old man.”
“If you were younger and bigger,” said the infuriated skipper, as he gave up the fruitless search, “I’d thrash you till you gave it up.”
“I’m an honest man,” said the other, recovering himself as he saw that his adversary intended no violence; “if you think I’ve stole your money, you know what you can do.”
“What?” demanded Flower.
“Go to the police,” said the old man, his little slit of a mouth twisted into a baleful grin; “if you think I’ve stole your money, go and tell the police.”
“Let ’em come and search the house,” said the old woman, plucking up spirit. “I’ve been married forty-two years and ’ad seven children. Go and fetch the police.”
Flower stared at them in wrathful concern. Threats were of no use, and violence was out of the question. He went to the door, and leaning against it, stood there deep in thought until, after a time, the old woman, taking courage from his silence, began to prepare breakfast. Then he turned, and drawing his chair up to the table, ate silently.