“C-Come out of h-here!” hissed her husband. He brought his heel down with such vehemence that he chipped off a splinter from the threshold.
“Best stand back, Eadie, and be careful not to touch him,” advised the Captain, eyeing the human cyclone with amusement and amazement. “Looks mighty dangerous, and sort as if he might go off.”
Harry met these words with a blazing glare.
“Cal’late you’d best come in and cool off a mite, Harry. You seem sort of het up.”
“W-Woman, c-come w-with m-me!” spluttered Mr. Beaver.
He strutted round the room, well out of the 91 Captain’s reach, and back again toward the door, looking for the world like a young barnyard fowl. But his wife did not follow.
“She ain’t going just yet. We was having a quiet-like chat when you busted in here, and I cal’late we’d best make it three-sided, that is, if you ain’t got no reasonable objection to raise. Come, you ain’t in that rush.”
Harry bounded toward the door. So, also, did the Captain. A heavy hand fell on the shoulder of the little man and spun him about.
“It’s real nice of you to come in like this for a friendly conflab,” said the seaman, dangerously pleasant.
“M-Man, t-take your h-hand off m-me! H-How dare y-you a-assault m-me! I’ll h-have the law on y-you!”