“Troth I do, your honor.”
“Well, then,” replied the son, “I beg to inform you that we will not.”
“Why so, your honor?”
“Simply, you knave,” exclaimed the father, in a passion, “because we don't wish it. Kick him out, Dick!”
“My good friend and brother soldier,” said Dick, “the fact is, that we are about to introduce a new system altogether upon our property. We are determined to manage it upon a perfectly new principle. It has been too much sublet under us, and we have resolved to rectify this evil. That is our answer. You get no lease. Provide for yourself and your friends, the Daltons, as best you can, but on this property you get no lease. That is your answer.”
“Begone, now, you scoundrel,” said the father, “and not a word more out of your head.”
“Gintlemen!—gintlemen!”—exclaimed the pedlar, “have you no consciences? Is there no justice in the world? The misery, and sorrow, and sufferin's of this misfortunate family, will be upon you, I doubt, if you don't do them justice.”
“Touch the bell, Dick! Here some one! Jemmy Branigan! Harry Lowry! Jack Clinton! Where are you all, you scoundrels? Here, put this rascal in the stocks immediately! in with him!”
Jemmy, who, from an adjoining room, had been listening to every word that passed, now entered.
“Here, you, sir: clap this vagabond in the stocks for his insolence. He has come here purposely to insult myself and my son. To the stocks with him at once.”