Neither man obeyed him. Jimmy was amused and looked it, stroking his short beard with his white tapering fingers. The old man was fury incarnate.
He it was that turned to Jimmy and croaked—
“What did I tell ye, Jimmy? What’ve I always said, Jimmy? Massey is a pig—he’s got the manners of a pig. Faugh!”
“Put up your hands!” hissed the man with the pistol. “Put ’em up, or I’ll put you both out!”
“If he’d come first, Jimmy!” Old Reale wrung his hands in his regret. “S’pose he’d jumped the rug—any sneak-thief could have done that—d’ye think he’d have spotted the man in armor? If you’d only get the man in armor ready again.”
“Put your pistol down, Massey,” said Jimmy coolly, “unless you want something to play with. Old man Reale’s too ill for the gymnastics you suggest, and I’m not inclined to oblige you.”
The man blustered.
“By God, if you try any of your monkey tricks with me, either of you——”
“Oh, I’m only a visitor like yourself,” said Jimmy, with a wave of his hand; “and as to monkey tricks, why, I could have shot you before you entered the room.”
Massey frowned, and stood twiddling his pistol.