"What would you do to Joshua Marvel if you had him here, with no one by?"
The Lascar, who had been playing idly with the knife with which he had cut his supper, raised it, and with a fierce action struck at the air. Then, springing to his feet, he threw aside his chair, and kneeling on the ground, made motions with his fingers as if he were strangling an enemy.
"H-m!" exclaimed Mr. Fewster, looking at the upturned face, blazing with vindictiveness, that fronted his. "Dangerous."
"That's my business. I'll risk the danger of it. See you--shall I speak plainly?"
"Yes."
"This girl that you love worships the man that you and I hate"--
"Say that you hate, you dog," interrupted Mr. Fewster. "I'll have no partnership. I am master."
"I ask your pardon, master. The girl that you love worships the man that I hate. She is waiting for him to come home; so am I. I have sworn death to him. When he comes home, the girl that you love will have no eyes for any one but him. What chance will you have with her then?"
"Stop. You are too fast. Speak of yourself and of them without reference to me. Don't iterate with your damnable tongue about the girl that I love. The girl that I love, I'll have"--
"So you shall, master, if I can help you."