Old Jack took the money, and called again at seven. Custom or law or what-not, he would wait for no Monday morning now. The door was open, and a group of listening children stood about it. From within came a noise of knocks and thuds and curses--sometimes a gurgle. Old Jack asked a small boy, whose position in the passage betokened residence, what was going forward. "It's the man downstairs," said the boy, "a-givin' of it to 'is wife for payin' awy the lodgers' rent." At this moment Mr. Joe Parsons appeared in the passage. The children, who had once or twice commented in shouts, dispersed. "I've come for my rent," said old Jack. Mr. Joe Parsons saw no retreat. So he said, "Rent? Ain't you 'ad it? I don't bother about things in the 'ouse. Come again when my wife's in." "She is in," rejoined old Jack, "an' you've been a-landin' of 'er for payin' me what little she 'as. Come, you pay me what you owe me, and take a week's notice now. I want my house kep' respectable." Mr. Joe Parsons had no other shift. "You be damned," he said. "Git out." "What?" gasped old Jack--for to tell a landlord to get out of his own house!... "What?" "Why git out? Y' ought to know better than comin' 'ere askin' for money you ain't earnt." "Ain't earnt? What d'ye mean?" "What I say. Y' ain't earnt it. It's you blasted lan'lords as sucks the blood o' the workers. You go an' work for your money." Old Jack was confounded. "Why--what--how d'ye think I can pay the rates, an' everythink?" "I don't care. You'll _'ave_ to pay 'em, an' I wish they was 'igher. They ought to be the same as the rent, an' that 'ud do away with fellers like you. Go on: you do your damdest an' get your rent best way you can." "But what about upstairs? You're lettin' it out an' takin' the rent there. I--" "That's none o' your business. Git out, will ye?" They had gradually worked over the doorstep, and Randall was on the pavement. "I sha'n't pay, an' I sha'n't go, an' ye can do what ye like; so it's no good your stoppin'--unless you want to fight. Eh--do ye?" And Mr. Parsons put a foot over the threshold. Old Jack had not fought for many years. It was low. For a landlord outside his own house it was, indeed, disgraceful. But it was quite dark now, and there was scarcely a soul in the street. Perhaps nobody would know, and this man deserved something for himself. He looked up the street again, and then, "Well, I ain't so young as I was," he said, "but I won't disappoint ye. Come on." Mr. Joe Parsons stepped within and slammed the door. VIII.