“No, nor nobody else's,” said Tom.
Mr. Hayes only muttered “Base-born brat!”
“His father was a gentleman,—that's more than you ever were!” screamed Mrs. Hayes. “His father was a man of spirit; no cowardly sneak of a carpenter, Mr Hayes! Tom has noble blood in his veins, for all he has a tailor's appearance; and if his mother had had her right, she would be now in a coach-and-six.”
“I wish I could find my father,” said Tom; “for I think Polly Briggs and I would look mighty well in a coach-and-six.” Tom fancied that if his father was a count at the time of his birth, he must be a prince now; and, indeed, went among his companions by the latter august title.
“Ay, Tom, that you would,” cried his mother, looking at him fondly.
“With a sword by my side, and a hat and feather there's never a lord at St. James's would cut a finer figure.”
After a little more of this talk, in which Mrs. Hayes let the company know her high opinion of her son—who, as usual, took care to show his extreme contempt for his stepfather—the latter retired to his occupations; the lodger, Mrs. Springatt, who had never said a word all this time, retired to her apartment on the second floor; and, pulling out their pipes and tobacco, the old gentleman and the young one solaced themselves with half-an-hour's more talk and smoking; while the thrifty Mrs. Hayes, opposite to them, was busy with her books.
“What's in the confessions?” said Mr. Billings to Doctor Wood. “There were six of 'em besides Mac: two for sheep, four housebreakers; but nothing of consequence, I fancy.”
“There's the paper,” said Wood, archly. “Read for yourself, Tom.”
Mr. Tom looked at the same time very fierce and very foolish; for, though he could drink, swear, and fight as well as any lad of his inches in England, reading was not among his accomplishments. “I tell you what, Doctor,” said he, “—— you! have no bantering with me,—for I'm not the man that will bear it, —— me!” and he threw a tremendous swaggering look across the table.