Ruth put out the tip of her tongue daintily.
"Crook upon the cross, don't you mean, Alf?"
He brushed the irrelevancy aside, shooting his head across to hers. His face was ugly now, and glistening. With deliberate insolence he flicked a thumb and finger under her nose.
"And I do know what I do know, and what nobody else don't know only you and me and the Captin, my tuppenny tartlet."
She was still and white, formidable in her very dumbness. He proceeded with quiet stealth.
"See that letter I wrote you used to hold over against me before you married—that's destroyed now. And a good job, too, for it might have meant trouble for Alfured. But it's gone! I know that then. Ern told me. He's a drunkard, old Ern is; but he's not a liar. I will say that for my brother; I will stick up for him if it was ever so; I will fight old Ern's battles for him."
"As you're doin now," said Ruth.
Alf grinned.
"And the short of it all is just this, Ruthie," he continued, and reaching forth a hand, tapped her upon the shoulder—"I got you, and you ain't got me. And I can squeeze the heart out of that great bosom o yours"—he opened and clenched his hand in pantomine—"if I don't get my way any time I like. So just you think it over! Think o your children if you won't think of nothing else!"
Outside in the road he ran into Joe, who gripped him.