“What's the matter?” she cried.
“She's lost another son,” said Mr. Green, with a ferocious sneer—“a flash, bullying, ugly chap of the name o' Letts.”
“Halloa!” said Mr. Letts, starting.
“A chap she picked up out of the street, and tried to pass off on me as her son,” continued Mr. Green, raising his voice. “She ain't heard the end of it yet, I can tell you.”
Mr. Letts fidgeted. “You leave her alone,” he said, mildly. “It's true I'm not her son, but it don't matter, because I've been to see a lawyer about her, and he told me that this house and half the furniture belongs by law to Betty. It's got nothing to do with you.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Green. “Now you take yourself off before I put the police on to you. Take your face off these premises.”
Mr. Letts, scratching his head, looked vaguely round the room.
“Go on!” vociferated Mr. Green. “Or will you have the police to put you out?”
Mr. Letts cleared his throat and moved towards the door. “You stick up for your rights, my girl,” he said, turning to Betty. “If he don't treat your mother well, give him back his kitchen chair and his three stair-rods and pack him off.”
“Henry,” said Mr. Green, with dangerous calm, “go and fetch a policeman.”