“Niver do you mind what he’s done,” said Dagley, more fiercely, “it’s my business to speak, an’ not yourn.  An’ I wull speak, too.  I’ll hev my say—­supper or no.  An’ what I say is, as I’ve lived upo’ your ground from my father and grandfather afore me, an’ hev dropped our money into’t, an’ me an’ my children might lie an’ rot on the ground for top-dressin’ as we can’t find the money to buy, if the King wasn’t to put a stop.”

“My good fellow, you’re drunk, you know,” said Mr. Brooke, confidentially but not judiciously.  “Another day, another day,” he added, turning as if to go.

But Dagley immediately fronted him, and Fag at his heels growled low, as his master’s voice grew louder and more insulting, while Monk also drew close in silent dignified watch.  The laborers on the wagon were pausing to listen, and it seemed wiser to be quite passive than to attempt a ridiculous flight pursued by a bawling man.

“I’m no more drunk nor you are, nor so much,” said Dagley.  “I can carry my liquor, an’ I know what I meean.  An’ I meean as the King ’ull put a stop to ’t, for them say it as knows it, as there’s to be a Rinform, and them landlords as never done the right thing by their tenants ‘ull be treated i’ that way as they’ll hev to scuttle off.  An’ there’s them i’ Middlemarch knows what the Rinform is—­an’ as knows who’ll hev to scuttle.  Says they, `I know who your landlord is.’  An’ says I, `I hope you’re the better for knowin’ him, I arn’t.’  Says they, `He’s a close-fisted un.’ `Ay ay,’ says I. `He’s a man for the Rinform,’ says they.  That’s what they says.  An’ I made out what the Rinform were—­ an’ it were to send you an’ your likes a-scuttlin’ an’ wi’ pretty strong-smellin’ things too.  An’ you may do as you like now, for I’m none afeard on you.  An’ you’d better let my boy aloan, an’ look to yoursen, afore the Rinform has got upo’ your back.  That’s what I’n got to say,” concluded Mr. Dagley, striking his fork into the ground with a firmness which proved inconvenient as he tried to draw it up again.

At this last action Monk began to bark loudly, and it was a moment for Mr. Brooke to escape.  He walked out of the yard as quickly as he could, in some amazement at the novelty of his situation.  He had never been insulted on his own land before, and had been inclined to regard himself as a general favorite (we are all apt to do so, when we think of our own amiability more than of what other people are likely to want of us).  When he had quarrelled with Caleb Garth twelve years before he had thought that the tenants would be pleased at the landlord’s taking everything into his own hands.