Peter came further into the pretty room, impatient eyes fixed on Varney.
"What fool's talk is this?" he demanded roughly. "Nobody is going out.
We four—"
Another loud crash of broken glass drowned him out. In Varney's eye the look of anxiety had deepened. He understood everything at a glance. Adroit proddings of a few poor Hackleys, some cheap liquor, the word passed to Maginnis as from a friend—this was how the boss of Hunston had plotted to set his heel upon Reform and stamp it out forever. He came three steps back into the room, sternly.
"You were a monumental fool to let them send you here, Peter—"
But the swelling tumult without made parley out of the question.
"No time for talk!" roared Peter. "It's fight now—before they are in on us! Lights out—and to the front, all of us!"
"Right hoh!" cried Henry, man to man, and ran out the door.
"No, no!" protested Mr. Stanhope thickly, "it is n't fair—"
Peter wheeled and looked at him, personally, for the first time. He had recognized him instantly, and now when he saw what he saw on that sickly green face, his fine eyes hardened.
"Four, I said? I see there are only three men here. No matter—three good ones are more than enough. Larry, stay here! I'll take the front door—the man the front windows—"
But Varney blocked his way to the door with a face more resolute than his own.