And it struck him dumb.
"I say," said Georgie, "are you angry?"
But he showed no anxiety on the point, merely beaming while the grown man fought for words.
"Angry? No—no——"
And now he was fighting for the power of speech—fighting hot eyes and twitching lips for his own manhood—and for the little impudent face that would fill with fear if he lost. But he won.
"Of course I'm not angry; but"—for he must know for certain—"what's your name?"
"That's not all."
"Georgie Musk."
Carlton filled his lungs.