“Behaved like what?” Rodie asked again. “What is the matter with you, Rodie? I am saying nothing that is wrong. If my uncle lent them money, they ought to pay.” “And do you think,” cried Rodie, in high indignation, “that my father would betray to you the names of the poor bodies that got a little money from Mr. Anderson to set them up in their shops, or to buy them a boat? Do you think if you were to talk to him till doomsday, that my father would do _that_?” “Why shouldn’t he?” said Frank, whose intellect was not of a subtle kind. “People should pay back the money when they have borrowed it. It is not as if it had been given to them as a present; Mr. Buchanan has been very kind to me, and I shouldn’t ask him to do anything that was not right, neither would I be hard on any poor man. I was not told they were very poor men who had got my old uncle’s money; and surely they had not so good a right to it as I have. I don’t want to do anything that is cruel; but I will have my money if I can get it, for I have a right to it,” Frank said, whose temper was gradually rising; yet not so much his temper as a sensation of justice and confidence in his own cause. “You had better send in the sheriff’s officers,” said Rodie, contemptuously, “and take their plenishing, or the stock in the shop, or the boat. But if you do, Frank Mowbray, mind you this, there is not one of us will ever speak to you again.” “One of you!” cried Frank, “I don’t want to quarrel with you, Rodie; but you are all a great deal younger than I am, and I am not going to be driven by you. I’ll see your father, and ask his advice, and I shall do what he says; but if you think I am going to be driven by you, from anything that is right in itself, you’re mistaken: and that’s all I have got to say.” “You are a prig, and a beast, and a cruel creditor,” cried Rodie. “Not the kind for us in St. Rule’s: and good-night to you, and if you find nobody to play with to-morrow, you will just mind that you’ve chosen to put yourself against us, and it’s your own fault.” Saying which, Rodie made a stride against the little garden gate which led to the Buchanan’s front door, flung it inwards with a clang, and disappeared under the shadow of the dark elder-tree which overshadowed the entrance.