"Who's going to believe that kind of yarn?" Carey demanded
"Who's going to believe that kind of yarn?" he demanded.
"I can prove it all right," said the other.
"Well, even if you can prove it, what then?"
His visitor shrugged.
"You seemed worried about it a minute ago," he said. "Oh, there ain't no use tryin' to kid me, I know what I know. It all depends on you who I tell it to. I ain't a mean guy." His voice became whining. "I ain't a trouble-maker. I can keep my trap closed as well as any one. When," he added significantly, "there's enough in it for me."
"And you think you can blackmail me?" demanded Carey. His attempt at righteous indignation sounded rather flat. The elevator-man lost his whine; his voice became sulkily hard.
"Sticks and stones won't break no bones," he said. "Call it what you please. I don't care—so long as I get mine."
Carey dropped his pretense of indignation.
"Well, there's no need of you shouting," he said. He rose to his feet, assisting himself with a hand on the edge of the table.