It took her by such surprise that she was like a mad thing, throwing herself upon him and battling for her treasure, though any possibility of her getting it back from him was hopeless. It was so easy for him to catch her by the wrists and twist them that he laughed while he was doing it.
“You little cat! You see what you bring on yourself. And you’re goin’ to get worse. I can tell you that straight now.”
Still twisting her arms till she writhed, though without a moan or a cry, he backed her toward the disemboweled sofa, on whose harsh, exposed springs she fell. Then he sprang on her a new surprise.
“How dare you wear them rings? They was your mother’s rings. I bought and paid for ’em. They’re mine.”
“Oh, don’t take them off,” she begged. “You can keep the money––”
“Sure I can keep the money,” he grinned, wrenching from her fingers the plain gold band he had given her mother as a wedding ring, as well as another, bigger, broader, showier, and set with two infinitesimal white points claiming to be diamonds.
Though he had released her hands, she now stretched them out toward him pleadingly. “Aw, give ’em back to me. They’se all I’ve got in the world to care about—just because she wore ’em. You can take anything else I’ve got––”
“All right, then. I’ll take this.”
With a deftness which would have done credit to a professor of legerdemain he unbuckled the strap of her little wrist-watch, putting the thing into his pocket.