The owner of the room neither moved nor took the cigar from his lips. "No, you can't." He nodded toward the door. "You can sprint it out again."
"I shall sprint it out when I'm ready. If I can't speak in private I shall speak in public. You've got to hear."
The insolent immobility was maintained. "Didn't I tell you the last time I saw you that if you ever interfered with me again—?"
"That you'd shoot me, yes. Well, get up and shoot. If you can't, or if you don't mean to, why make the threat? But I've come to talk reason. You've got to listen to reason. If you don't I'll appeal to these chaps to make you. They don't want to see you a comic valentine any more than I do. Now climb down from your high horse and let's get to business."
It was Guy Ansley who cleared the room. "Say, fellows—" With a stealthy movement, which their host was too preoccupied to observe, they slipped out. He knew, however, when he and his enemy were alone, and still without lifting his feet from the desk or taking the cigar from his mouth, made the concession of speaking.
"Well, if business has brought you here, cough it up."
"I will. I come first from the Dean, and then from the Chief of Police."
"Oh, you do, do you? So you're to be the hangman."
"No; there's not to be a hangman. They've given you a reprieve—because I've begged you off."
The feet came off the desk. The cigar was taken from the lips. Tad leaned forward in his chair, tense and incredulous.