“Evening,” he grunted, and helped himself to a seat at the table.
“Reade and Hazelton, you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Pete, I believe?” asked Blaisdell, without the trace of a smile.
“Huh!” growled Pete, not looking up, for the first supply of food was on the table.
“We’ve had the pleasure, twice today, of meeting Mr. Peter,” replied Tom, with equal gravity.
“See here, tenderfoot,” scowled Bad Pete, looking up from his plate, “don’t you call me ‘Peter’ again. Savvy?”
“We don’t know your other name, sir,” rejoined Tom, eyeing the bad man with every outward sign of courtesy.
“I’m just plain Pete. Savvy that?
“Certainly, Plain Pete,” Reade nodded.
Pete dropped his soup spoon with a clatter letting his right hand fall to the holster.
“Be quiet, Pete,” warned Blaisdell, his eyes shooting a cold glance at the angry man. “Reade is a newcomer, not used to our ways yet. Remember that this is a gentleman’s club.”