“You have not quarrelled with Mr. Furze, I hope? You do not seem quite happy.”
“Me quarrel with Mr. Furze, marm!—no, I never quarrel with him. He’s a gentleman, he is.”
Mrs. Furze was impatient. She wanted to come to the point, and could not wait to manœuvre.
“I am afraid you and Tom do not get on together.”
“Well, Mrs. Furze, if we don’t it ain’t my fault.”
“No, I dare say not; in fact, I am sure it is not. I dare say Tom is a little overbearing. Considering his origin, and the position he now occupies, it is natural he should be.”
“He ain’t one as ought to give himself airs, marm. Why—”
Jim all at once dropped his chisel and his mask of indifference and flashed into ferocity.
“Why, my father was a tradesman, he was, and I was in your husband’s foundry earning a pound a week when Master Tom was in rags. Who taught him I should like to know?”
“Jim, you must not talk like that; although, to tell you the truth, Tom is no favourite of mine. Mr. Furze, however, relies on him.”