"
"Quite an orator!" he observed, grimly. "The Ormonds were formerly more
ready with their swords than with their tongues."
"I trust I shall not fail to sustain their traditions," I said,
controlling my anger with a desperate effort.
He burst out into a hollow laugh.
"There you go, red as a turkey-cock and madder than a singed tree-cat!
George, can't you let me plague you in comfort! Dammy, it's undutiful!
For pity's sake! let me sneer--let me gibe and jeer if it eases me."
I glared at him, half inclined to laugh.
"Curse it!" he said, wrathfully, "I'm serious. You don't know how
serious I am. It's no laughing matter, George. I must do something to
ease me!" He burst out into a roar, swearing in volleys.
"D' ye think I wish to appear contemptible?" he shouted. "D' ye think I
like to sit here like an old wife, scolding in one breath and preaching
thrift in the next? A weak-kneed, chicken-livered, white-bellied old
bullfrog that squeaks and jumps, plunk! into the puddle when a footstep
falls in the grass! Am I not a patroon? Am I not Dutch? Granted I'm fat
and slow and a glutton, and lazy as a wolverine. I can fight like one,
too! Don't make any mistake there, George!"
His broad face flushed crimson, his little, green eyes snapped fire.
"D' ye think I don't love a fight as well as my neighbor? D' ye think
I've a stomach for insults and flouts and winks and nudges? Have I a
liver to sit doing sums on my thumbs when these impudent British are
kicking my people out of their own doors? Am I of a kidney to smile and
bow, and swallow and digest the orders of Tory swashbucklers, who lay
down a rule of conduct for men who should be framing rules of common
decency for them? D' ye think I'm a snail or a potato or an empty pair
o' breeches? Damnation!"
Rage convulsed him.
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