Before either of the girls could touch him the man answered Mary’s question by turning over of his own accord and trying rather waveringly to sit up, showing a large and swollen bump on his head.
The girls stepped back, staring at him as though he were some reptile.
“Lieberstein!” cried Mary, with all the contempt and loathing she felt for this man in her voice. “So it was you, was it? Again! Prying and sneaking around like any common thief. You’re lucky that you only got tripped up and hit on the head. If I’d seen you first—” she did not finish the sentence, but made a significant gesture with her father’s old shotgun. “I’m not sure,” she added with a grim expression on her girlish face, “that I oughtn’t to use it yet!”
The man got unsteadily to his feet, holding to the edge of the door casing for support.
“So you’re the one who tripped me up,” he snarled to Ruth, ignoring Mary and her threatening gun. “Well, young lady, the next time you try it, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
Ruth stepped close to him and in her eyes was a glitter before which his own gaze fell sullenly to the ground.
“And you might as well understand one thing,” she said in an even tone. “These girls are not as friendless and defenseless as you seem to think! You and the man, or men, back of you stop annoying them or you will be extremely sorry.”
Her scorn seemed to infuriate the man. He lost all caution and for a moment the mean and sinister soul of him peered forth for all to see.
“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” he snarled. “Well, I’ll tell you something. If you don’t watch out, Sol Bloomberg will get your goat, and get it good, you—you——”
“Don’t dare call her names!” cried a valiant voice, and Lieberstein whirled about to see himself looking into the barrel of Mary’s weapon.