“Well said, sir. And if you choose to make use of your luck, in Benton, by all means——”
Whether she would have shaped her import clearly I did not know. There was a commotion in the forward part of the car. That same drunken wretch Jim had appeared; his bottle (somehow restored to 44 him) in hand, his hat pushed back from his flushed greasy forehead.
“Have a smile, ladies an’ gents,” he was bellowing thickly. “Hooray! Have a smile on me. Great an’ gloryus ’casion—’ic! Ever’body smile. Drink to op’nin’ gloryus Pac’fic—’ic—Railway. Thash it. Hooray!” Thus he came reeling down the aisle, thrusting his bottle right and left, to be denied with shrinkings or with bluff excuses.
It seemed inevitable that he should reach us. I heard My Lady utter a little gasp, as she sat more erect; and here he was, espying us readily enough with that uncanny precision of a drunken man, his bottle to the fore.
“Have a smile, you two. Wouldn’t smile at station; gotto smile now. Yep. ’Ic! ’Ray for Benton! All goin’ to Benton. Lesh be good fellers.”
“You go back to your seat, Jim,” she ordered tensely. “Go back, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Whash that? Who your dog last year? Shay! You can’t come no highty-tighty over me. Who your new friend? Shay!” He reeled and gripped the seat, flooding me with his vile breath. “By Gawd, I got the dead-wood on you, you——!” and he had loosed such a torrent of low epithets that they are inconceivable.
“For that I’d kill you in any other place, Jim,” she said. “You know I’m not afraid of you. Now 45 get, you wolf!” Her voice snapped like a whip-lash at the close; she had made sudden movement of hand—it was extended and I saw almost under my nose the smallest pistol imaginable; nickeled, of two barrels, and not above three inches long; projecting from her palm, the twin hammers cocked; and it was as steady as a die.
Assuredly My Lady did know how to take care of herself. Still, that was not necessary now.
“No!” I warned. “No matter. I’ll tend to him.”