"No, no, Jas! No, no, no!"
Suddenly Jastrow the Granite Jaw drew down his lips to a snarl, his hands clutching into the coverlet and drawing it up off his feet.
"Gimme!" he said. "I've done it before and I'll do it now—smash up the place! Gimme! You're getting me crazy! This time you got me crazy. Gimme—you hear—gimme!"
"Jas—for God's sakes—no—no!"
"Gimme! By God! you hear—gimme!" There was a wrenching movement of his body, a fumbling beneath the pillow, and Mr. Jastrow suddenly held forth, in crouched attitude of cunning, something cold, something glittering, something steel.
"Now," he said, head jutting forward, and through shut teeth—"now gimme, or by God—"
"Jas—Jas—for God's sake have you gone crazy? Where'd you get that gun? Is that where I heard you sneaking this morning—over to my trunk for my watch-dog? Gimme that gun—Jas! You—you're crazy—Jas!"
"You gimme, was what I said, and gimme quick! You see this thing pointing? Well, gimme quick."
"Jas—"
"Don't 'Jas' me. I'm ugly this time, and when I'm ugly I'm ugly!"