Oliver turned on him. “I’ll knock your damned head off, Malone, if you make any more cracks like that. Remember that, will you?” he cried hotly.
Malone was genuinely surprised. He went very red in the face.
“Yes,” he said thickly, “I’ll be sure to remember it.”
Oliver apologized to Malone as they were on the point of separating in front of the house. They had traversed the hundred yards or more in silence.
“I am sorry I spoke to you as I did, Mr. Malone. I hope you will overlook it.”
Malone held out his hand. “I’ve been spoken to a good bit rougher than that in my time, Mr. Baxter, and never turned a hair,” he said good-naturedly. “I don’t blame you for calling me down. I guess I was fresh. But I assure you I didn’t mean to be.”
“It’s my infernal temper,” explained Oliver, taking the man’s hand. “You would think that after twenty years’ training of the most drastic character I might be able to control it, wouldn’t you? But every once in a while it slips.”
“Well, there’s no hard feelings on my part. Still I hope you don’t mind my saying that a lot of men have tried to knock my block off without success.”
“All the more reason why I should apologize,” said Oliver, with his old, disarming smile.
“Forget it,” said Mr. Malone magnanimously.