“He has sent word that he won’t have you at the meeting. Ask Straight! He’ll give you the message. The dude knows he wouldn’t stand the show of a snowball in tophet with you there where the girl could see you. If you’re a coward, say so, and we’ll look further.”
“By ——, I’m no coward, and you know it!” growled the boss.
“He’s licked you once and cut you out with one girl,” persisted Britt. “The whole Umcolcus knows that! When they find out that he’s got away with a girl that has been in love with you, and with ten thousand dollars in the bargain, why, boy, even Tommy Eye will dare to put up his fists to you!”
In MacLeod’s tumultuous mind it was no longer love’s choice between Nina Ide and Kate Arden; it was the hard, bitter passion of the primitive man—the instinct to grasp what a foe is coveting for the sake of humiliating that foe. Again MacLeod felt himself thrust forth by circumstances to be the champion of his kind. That man from the city was of the other sort.
“Mr. Britt,” he choked, “let me at him once more!”
“Oh, that will be all right!” said the baron; “but we’re not pulling off a prize-fight, MacLeod. Scraps are interestin’ enough when there isn’t more important business on hand. There happens to be business just now. The whole idea is, are you ready to marry the girl?”
MacLeod had approached them grimly resolved to be defiant on that point. The flicker in his eyes now was the shadow of that resolution departing.
“If it’s him against me again,” he snarled, “I’ll marry a quill-pig and ask no questions.”
“Not exactly cheerful talk to hear from a prospective bridegroom marryin’ money and good looks,” commented the Honorable Pulaski, dryly; “but a promise is a promise, MacLeod, and I never knew you to break one you made me. Shake!”
By the way in which both Barrett and MacLeod turned inquiring gaze on him, the Umcolcus baron understood that he was tacitly elected autocrat of the situation, and he proceeded about his task with the briskness characteristic of his habit of command.