“Now, what’s the use your getting excited? I’m just here to tell you that I’m going to keep an eye on you. I don’t know many people here, and I haven’t taken any particular pains to look you up. For all I know, you’re only here to sell your house, as you say. But I know old man Madison a little, and I kind of took a fancy to him; he’s a mighty nice old man, and he’s got a nice family. He’s sick and it won’t do to trouble him; but—honest, Corliss—if you don’t slack off in that neighbourhood a little, I’ll have to have a talk with the young lady herself.”
A derisory light showed faintly in the younger man’s eyes as he inquired, softly: “That all, Mr. Pryor?”
“No. Don’t try anything on out here. Not in any of your lines.”
“I don’t mean to.”
“That’s right. Sell your house and clear out. You’ll find it healthy.” He went to the door. “So far as I can see,” he observed, ruminatively, “you haven’t brought any of that Moliterno crowd you used to work with over to this side with you.”
“I haven’t seen Moliterno for two years,” said Corliss, sharply.
“Well, I’ve said my say.” Pryor gave him a last word as he went out. “You keep away from that little girl.”
“Ass!” exclaimed Corliss, as the door closed. He exhaled a deep breath sharply, and broke into a laugh. Then he went quickly into his bedroom and began to throw the things out of his trunk.