"You're a liar, then, that's flat!" exclaimed Mrs. Squallop, slapping her hand upon the table, with a violence that made the candle quiver on it, and almost fall down. "_You_ have the _himperance_," said she, sticking her arms akimbo, and commencing the address she had been preparing in her own mind ever since Mr. Gripe had quitted her house, "to stand there and tell me you've got nothing in the world but them _two shillings_! Heugh! Out on you, you oudacious fellow!--you jack-a-dandy! _You_ tell me you haven't got more than them two shillings, and yet turns out every Sunday morning of your life like a lord, with your pins, and your rings, and your chains, and your fine coat, and your gloves, and your spurs, and your dandy cane--ough! you whipper-snapper! You're a cheat--you're a swindler, jack-a-dandy! You're the contempt of the whole court, you are--you jack-a-dandy! You've got all my rent on your back, and so you've had every Sunday for three months, you cheat!--you low fellow!--you ungrateful chap! You're a-robbing the widow and fatherless! Look at me, and my six fatherless children down there, you good-for-nothing, nasty, proud puppy!--eugh! it makes me sick to see you. _You_ dress yourself out like my lord mayor! You've bought a gold chain with my rent, you rascally cheat! _You_ dress yourself out?--Ha, ha!--you're a nasty, mean-looking, humpty-dumpty, carroty-headed"---- "You'd better not say _that_ again, Mrs. Squallop," quoth Titmouse, with a fierce glance. "Not say it again!--ha, ha! Hoighty-toighty, carroty-haired jack-a-dandy!--Why, you hop-o-my-thumb! d'ye think I won't say whatever I choose, and in my own house, and to a man that can't pay his rent? You're a Titmouse by name and by nature; there a'n't a cockroach crawling in our kitchen that a'n't more harmless than you!--You're a himperant cheat, and dandy, and knave, and a liar, and a red-haired rascal--and _that_ in your teeth! (snapping her fingers.) Ough! Your name stinks in the court. You're a-taking of everybody in as will trust you to a penny's amount. There's poor old Cox, the tailor, with a sick wife and children, whom you've cheated this many months, all of his not having sperrit to summons you! But _I'll_ set him upon you; you see if I don't--and I'll have my own, too, or I wouldn't give _that_ for the laws!" shouted Mrs. Squallop, again furiously snapping her fingers in his face; and then pausing for breath after her eloquent invective. "Now, what _is_ the use," said Titmouse, gently, being completely cowed--"now, what good _can_ it do to go on in this way, Mrs. Squallop?"