At this Master Ned stepped forward with the spirit of chastisement in his eyes, his skates held back as if he meant to strike Phil with their sharp blades.  But it happened that Philip had by now mounted the first door-step, and thus stood higher than his would-be assailant.  So Master Ned stopped just out of Philip’s reach, and said insolently: 

“’Tis time you were taught your place, young fellow.  You’re one of my father’s servants, that’s all; so take in my skates, or I’ll show you.”

“You’re wrong there,” said Phil, with forced quietness.  “A clerk or messenger, in business, is not a personal servant.”

“Take in these skates, or I’ll brain you with ’em!” cried Ned, to that.

“Come on and brain!” cried Phil.

“By G——­d, I will that!” replied Ned, and made to swing the skates around by the straps.  But his arm was, at that instant, caught in a powerful grip, and, turning about in surprise, he looked into the hard, cold eyes of his father, who had come up unseen, having stayed; at the warehouse even later than Phil.

“If any blows are struck here, you sha’n’t be the one to strike them, sir,” he said to Ned.  “What’s this I hear, of servants?  I’ll teach you once for all, young man, that in my house Philip is your equal.  Go to your room and think of that till it becomes fixed in your mind.”

To go without supper, with such an appetite, on such a cold night, was indeed a dreary end for such a day’s sport.  I, who knew how chilled and starved Ned must be, really pitied him.

But instead of slinking off with a whimper, he for the first time in his life showed signs of revolt.

“What if I don’t choose to go to my room?” he answered, impudently, to our utmost amazement.  “You may prefer an outside upstart over your son, if you like, but you can’t always make your son a prisoner by the ordering.”

Mr. Faringfield showed little of the astonishment and paternal wrath he doubtless felt.  He gazed coldly at his defiant offspring a moment; then took a step toward him.  But Ned, with the agility of boyhood, turned and ran, looking back as he went, and stopping only when he was at a safe distance.

“Come back,” called his father, not risking his dignity in a doubtful pursuit, but using such a tone that few would dare to disobey the command.

“Suppose I don’t choose to come back,” answered Ned, to whose head the very devil had now certainly mounted.  “Maybe there’s other places to go to, where one doesn’t have to stand by and see an upstart beggar preferred to himself, and put in his place, and fed on the best while he’s lying hungry in his dark room.”

“If there’s another place for you, I’d advise you to find it,” said Mr. Faringfield, after a moment’s reflection.

“Oh, I’ll find it,” was the reply; and then came what Master Ned knew would be the crowning taunt and insult to his father.  “If it comes to the worst, I know how I can get to England, where I’d rather be, anyway.”