"Stop it," he growled with an oath.
"Oh, you naughty darling! Did'ums," and I chucked him coyly under his fat double chin. His spasm of rage at this almost overpowered his cowardice, and he must have been within an ace of apoplexy. The blood rushed in a crimson flood to his flabby face, he clenched his fists and trembled like an aspen with the strain.
"I'm going," he mumbled thickly at last.
"Of course you are, darling; but presently." I stood with my back against the door. "I can't spare you yet. Besides, you haven't thanked me. Isn't my sweetheart grateful to his Popsy-wopsy?" I chided in a sort of Mantalini manner.
"Oh, blazes! Let me go, will you?"
"But think what I've saved you from, beloved. Why, if it hadn't been for me by this time you'd be a murderer or a thief, or both. Imagine it! The torments your tender conscience would be suffering! A murderer! My Albert!"
Another spasm of impotent rage followed, and this time, instead of cursing he groaned aloud and dropped into a chair with his hands to his head.
I locked the door then, putting the key in my pocket, took the cartridges out of his revolver, tossed it into his lap, and mixed myself a drink and lit a cigar. "Now we'll have our chat," I said, dropping the banter.
He looked up and, seeing the way to the door was free, jumped from his seat to escape; and began cursing again on finding it locked. "Are you going to stop that rot?"
"Yes, if you behave yourself; except for an occasional endearment, lest we forget how much we love one another."