“I merely came in for one small bracer. I needed it, and the gentlemen were good enough to invite me.”
“Here!” coarsely cried a man. “What’s this mean? Who’s this that’s comin’ here to spoil our fun?”
“Throw the feller out!” cried another.
Growls of anger came from the others gathered about, and they crowded nearer.
“Look out for trouble!” whispered Hodge, in Frank’s ear.
“Get out of here,” ordered the first speaker, confronting Merry. “We’re bein’ entertained.”
“I beg your pardon—gentlemen,” said Merry, smoothly, hesitating slightly before the final word. “There are reasons why I come here to take Mr. Burns with me. I am sorry to spoil your entertainment, but it is necessary.”
“Is the old fellow bound out to you?” sneeringly, asked one. “Do you own him?”
“No man owns me!” cried the tragedian, drawing himself up and staring round. “I am my own master.”
“I’ll bet you don’t dare take another drink,” said the man, quickly thrusting a brimming glass of whisky toward Burns. “You’re afraid of the young gent.”