“You’re an unfeeling brute,” Jacob declared.
Dauncey shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps so,” he agreed. “I don’t suppose I should like her any better if she came and ate out of your hand.”
“You must admit that she shows a fine, independent spirit,” Jacob insisted.
“Bultiwell obstinacy, I call it!”
Jacob knocked the ash from his cigar.
“Dick,” he asked quietly, “is there any sense in two men arguing about a girl, when one is in love with her and the other isn’t?”
“None at all,” Dauncey agreed.
“Then shut up and tell me what horrible tragedy you’ve stumbled upon. You’ve something to say to me, haven’t you?”