“Then if you see, tell me what it is.”
He finished the arrested act of taking off his coat, after which he hung it up in a closet, doing the same with his hat. The minute’s delay allowed time for the storm-clouds to gather on his face, and all the passions of a gloomy-hearted nature to concentrate in a hot, thundery silence.
“Is this a bit of bluff, Frank?”
“Bluff be hanged! I’m ready to speak out frankly.”
The storm-clouds were torn with a flash like a streak of lightning.
“Then why didn’t you come to me like a man instead of sending that sneaking old beast—”
“Hold on, Stephen. What sneaking old beast have I sent?”
“He wouldn’t have come unless you had set him on me. You needn’t tell me that.”
“What the deuce are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. There hasn’t been a day since you came back that I haven’t had a hint.” He was not a man to whom anger came easily; he began to choke, to strangle with the effort to get his indignation out. “I’d have given him the toe of my boot long ago if—if—if—if”—the words positively shivered on his lips—“if—if—if I hadn’t wanted to see how far you’d go; and, by God! I’ve—I’ve had enough of it!”