“Where do you get that stuff about gentlemen? You think you’re the only gentlemen around here?” he bristled up.
Fallon’s courage fell slightly, but he had to stand his ground. His hand started for a spot beneath his coat.
“Wait a minute,” Snadder fairly yelped, losing temper now, for his own recollection of things of the past was not bad. “You pull a gun on me and I’ll twist your head off!”
Jeek reached for the gun which he had in his hand when he entered, but which he had tossed to the mantel shelf when he removed his mackinaw.
“You, too, Jeek!” called Snadder. “Maybe you don’t remember me so good, but don’t you point that gun at me!”
Jeek started as he heard his name called in such familiar fashion by this tramp. His hand did not grasp the weapon.
Snadder took advantage of the situation on the second, knowing that he had the upper hand for a little while, at least. He now proceeded to make the best of it.
“You remember Blinky, don’t you, Jeek?” he said. “Well, I’m Snadder, who used to cook in hashhouses and Blinky was a stableman on some of the same race-tracks where you used to be. Guess you remember us, eh?”
A frown came scowling across the face of the burly race-track follower, and his upper lip curled away from his teeth of yellow tinge.
“I don’t know either of you!” he spat out the words in contempt of the two men and of Snadder’s words.