One of the men pushed back his chair and came to his feet a bit unsteadily.
“What the deuce is it, Nellie?” he hiccoughed.
Nellie had her wits about her. She was very pale, but she was calm. Instinctively she felt that trouble—even tragedy—was confronting her; the thing she had feared all along without admitting it even to herself.
“Sit down, Dick,” she commanded. “Don’t 161 get excited, any of you. It’s all right. My husband, that’s all.”
The man at her right was Fairfax. He was gaping at Harvey with horror in his face. He, too, had been expecting something like this. Involuntarily he shifted his body so that the woman on the other side, a huge creature, was partially between him and the little man in the door.
“Get him out of here!” he exclaimed. “He’s just damned fool enough to do something desperate if we––”
“You shut up!” barked Harvey, in a sudden access of fury. “Not a word out of you, you big bully.”
“Get him out!” gasped Fairfax, holding his arm over his face. “What did I tell you? He’s crazy! Grab him, Smith! Hurry up!”
“Grab him yourself!” retorted Smith, in some haste. “He’s not gunning for me.”
What there was to be afraid of in the appearance of the little ulstered man who stood there with his hands in his pockets I cannot for the life of me tell, but there was no doubt as to the consternation he produced in the midst of this erstwhile jovial crowd. An abrupt demand of 162 courtesy urged him to raise his hand to doff his hat in the presence of ladies. Twenty terrified eyes watched the movement as if ten lives hung on the result thereof. Half of the guests were standing, the other half too petrified to move. A husband is a thing to strike terror to the heart, believe me, no matter how trivial he may be, especially an unexpected husband.