Benbow, his rough
manners, his rustic speech, and his outrageous lack of respect for
his betters. After a little of this talk Venables says to me:
"Come, Bold, we are better away from this."
"You are right," says I, and we both rose and put on our hats.
Cludde saw the action, and, taking courage I suppose from the
presence of his boon fellows, he said, in a tone loud enough to
reach my ears:
"That's one of his doings. Simpson tells me that that fellow is a
lieutenant on the Falmouth, through Benbow's interest; he comes
from my town Shrewsbury, and a year or two ago was a charity brat,
with scarce a coat to his back."
At this I swung round and took a pace or two towards the table
where Cludde was seated. Though I had much ado to curb my anger, I
said quietly:
"If that is true, Cludde, you know who is the cause of it."
"I did not speak to you, sirrah," says he.
"But I speak to you," I said. "You may say what you please about
me; I will settle my account with you in good time; but I advise
you not to say too much about Mr. Benbow, who is not here to answer
for himself."
"Oho, you sneak out of it that way, do you?" says he. "I'll say
what I please about Mr. Benbow without asking leave of you or any
man. Benbow is a low-born scut--can you deny it? Wasn't his father
a tanner, and don't his sister keep a coffee shop?"
"And what then?"
"What then? Why, this: that he ain't fit to be in the company of
gentlemen," and then he told a foul story of Benbow which angered
me past all endurance.
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