d manner.

Tom was wrong to go to the Grange in the first instance; and this
part of the homily was amplified by a discourse on the corruption
of the turf in general, and the special curse of small country
races in particular, which such men as Wurley supported, and
which, but for them, would cease. Racing, which used to be the
pastime of great people, who could well afford to spend a few
thousands a year on their pleasure, had now mostly fallen into
the hands of the very worst and lowest men of all classes, most
of whom would not scruple--as Mr. Brown strongly put it--to steal
a copper out of a blind beggar's hat. If he must go, at any rate
he might have done his errand and come away, instead of staying
there all day accepting the man's hospitality. Mr. Brown himself
really should be much embarrassed to know what to do if the man
should happen to attend the next sessions or assizes.

But, above all, having accepted his hospitality, to turn round at
the end and insult the man in his own house? This seemed to
Brown, J. P., a monstrous and astounding performance.

This new way of putting matters took Tom entirely by surprise. He
attempted a defense, but in vain. His father admitted that it
would be a hard case if Harry were turned out of his cottage, but
wholly refused to listen to Tom's endeavors to prove that a
tenant in such a case had any claim or right as against his
landlord. A weekly tenant was a weekly tenant, and no succession
of weeks' holding could make him anything more. Tom found himself
rushing into a line of argument which astonished himself and
sounded wild, but in which he felt sure there was some truth, and
which, therefore, he would not abandon, though his father was
evidently annoyed, and called it mere mischievous sentiment. Each
was more moved than he would have liked to own; each in his own
heart felt aggrieved and blamed the other for not understanding
him. But, though obstinate on the general question, upon the
point of his leaving the Grange, Tom was fairly brought to shame,
and gave in at lust, and expressed his sorrow, though he could
not help maintaining that, if his father could have heard what
took place and seen the man's manner, he would scarcely blame him
for what he had said and done. Having owned himself in the wrong,
however, there was nothing for it but to write an apology, the
composition of which was as disagreeable a task as had ever
fallen to his lot.

CHAPTER XXXIV