The poor boy! forgotten by Hope, and purposely trampled down by the eager talk of Abel.
"Hope, go up stairs!" shouted the old gentleman.

"And what are you doing in my house, you scamps ?" He lifted his cane as he came toward them.

"I knew all this fighting business yesterday was a conspiracy--a swindling cheat to get into this house! I've a mind to break your impudent bones!" "Why, Sir," said Abel, "you gave me leave to come here and sketch." "Did I give you leave to come into my parlor and bring boys with you, Sir, and take up the time of my grand-daughter?
Hope, I say, go up stairs!" "I only thought, Sir--" began Abel.
"Now, in Heaven's name, don't make me angry, Sir!" burst in the old gentleman, almost foaming at the mouth.

"Why should you think, Sir?
What business have you to think, Sir?
You're a boy, Sir--a school-boy, Sir! Are you going to dispute with me in my own house?
I take back my permission.

Go, both of you! and never let me see your faces again!" The old man stood pointing with his cane toward the door.
"Go, both of you!" repeated he, fiercely.