'Sir,' I said, 'with submission, I would ask your leave to give up my place in this office.'
'Give up? Give up?' he cried, growing purple in the face. 'Does the boy know what he means?'
"'GIVE UP!' HE CRIED, GROWING PURPLE IN THE FACE."
'Give up?' cried my uncle. 'Is the boy mad? Give up his prospects in this House—this—the soundest House in the whole City? Nephew Will, wouldst starve?'
'I will make a living by music.'
'Make a living—a living—make a living—by music? What? To play the fiddle in a tavern? To play in the gallery while your father is feasting below?'
'Nay, sir; but there are other ways.'