“That’s something I’d like to know,” he declared.
“Don’t you know?”
“Don’t I know?”
“That’s the question I put to you.”
Mel caught his breath with a hissing sound, glared at Mike with his green eyes, and then slowly rose to his feet.
“Now, see here,” he snapped, shaking one of his knobby fists at Lynch, “if you mean to insinuate anything about me, you’d better go slow!”
“Aw, sit down,” said Mike, placing his fingers against Mel’s breast and pushing him back upon the chair. “Don’t do that with me, Daggett. Don’t lift your fist to me; you’re liable to get hit if you do.”
“If you hit me, you’ll be sorry.”
“What’ll you do, peach on the crowd?”
“I won’t stand for that—I won’t stand for it!” palpitated Daggett.