“Want me to apologize, I s’pose?” he grumbled.
“A gentleman would not wait to ask.”
“Maybe you think a gentleman wouldn’t of said what I did, in the first place, eh?”
“Yes, I do think so. Don’t you?”
“Well, I’m sorry. Let it go at that. Now let’s get to work. Say”—as they moved across to their wonted places at the big centre table, “you oughtn’t to take offence at anything about me this morning. You must know how sore I am.”
“What’s the matter?”
“As if you didn’t know! You saw how many kinds of a wall-eyed fool I made of myself last night. Isn’t that enough to make a man sore? And to think of it being taken down by those newspaper idiots and printed all over the country!”
He gave the nearby chair a kick, avalanching the morning papers to the floor.
“Have you read those?” queried Anice.
“No. Why should I rub it in? I know what they——”