“You told me people said his father was a bookbinder, and I said, ‘Yes, sir.’”

“You know as well as I do it’s all a lie! The boy is mine. He belongs neither to bookbinder nor blacksmith!”

“You’ll allow me a small share in him, I hope! I’ve done more for him than you, sir.”

“That’s not my fault!”

“Perhaps not. But I’ve done more for him than you ever will, sir.”

“How do you think that?”

“I’ve made him as good a shoesmith as ever drove nail! I don’t say he’s up to his grandfather at the anvil yet, but—”

“An accomplishment no doubt, but not exactly necessary to a gentleman!”

“It’s better than dicing or card-playing!” said the blacksmith.

“You’re right there! I hope he’s learned neither. I want to teach him those things myself. He’s not a bad-looking fellow!”

“There’s not a better lad in England, sir. If you had brought him up as he is, you might have been proud of your work.”

“He seems proud of somebody’s work! Prouder of himself than his prospects, by Jove!” said sir Wilton, feeling his way. “You should have taught him not to quarrel with his bread and butter!”

“I never saw any call to teach him that. He never quarrelled with anything at my table, sir. A man who has earned his own bread and butter ever since he left school is not likely to quarrel with it.”

“You don’t say he has done so?”

“I do—and I can prove it! Did you tell him, sir, that you were his father?”

“Of course I did! And before I said another word, there we were quarrelling—just as it was with me and my father.”

“He never told me!” said Simon, half to himself, and ready to feel hurt.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No, sir.”

“Where is he?”

“Gone to London with your money.”

“Now, Simon Armour—” began the baronet with assertiveness in his tone.

“Now, sir Wilton Lestrange!” interrupted Simon. “Please remember you are in my house!”

“Tut, tut! All I want to say is that you will spoil everything if you encourage the rascal to keep low company.”

“You mean?”

“Those Mansons.”

“Are your children low company, sir?”

“Yes. I am sorry, but I must admit it. Their mother was low company.”

“The children are not the mother,” said Simon. “I know the girl and she is anything but low company. She lay ill in my house here for six weeks or more. Ask Miss Wylder. If you want to be on good terms with your son, don’t say a word against your daughter or her brother.”

“I like that! On good terms with my son! Ha, ha!”

“Remember, sir, he is independent of his father.”

“Independent! A beggarly bookbinder!”

“Excuse me, sir, but an honest trade is the only independence. You are dependent on your money and your land. Where would you be without them? And you made neither. We, my grandson and I, have means of our own,” said the blacksmith, and held out his two brawny hands. “The thing that is beggarly,” he resumed, “is to take all and give nothing. If your ancestors got the land by any good they did, you did not get it by any good you did. And having got it, what have you done in return?”