“Thanks for the suggestion, old chap! Three can play as well as two. Now, Look, you know that I’m always outspoken and straight to the point. No tinderhanded bluff for me. I’m going to sue you for ten thousand!”
“Crack ’em down, gents!” remarked Absalom with grim patness.
Hiram could not resist casting a malevolent stare at the unconscious humourist in the cage.
For one startled moment he stared at the woman in fear, and then, recovering composure, tilted his cigar in the corner of his mouth with cocky assurance.
“I want to know,” he blurted sarcastically. “Breach of promise, I per-sume?”
“Good aim! You’ve rung the bell!” replied the lady coolly.
The impudence of the bare suggestion fetched a gasp from both men.
Hiram was striving to be haughtily indifferent and disdainful. But this thrust was too much for his composure. He felt one of those old-time fits of rage come bristling up the back of his head, the fury of old, when he had tried to wither that same giddy creature in his spasms of jealousy.
But she broke in on him with the same icy assurance that used to put him out of countenance.
“I know all that, Look. But how are you going to prove that I’ve been married? Where are you going to hunt for witnesses? Professional people are like wild geese—roosting on air and moulting their names like feathers. You two are going to seem like a couple of old frauds standing up in court against me! You haven’t got the first elements of acting to you! Observe how I take my cue! Jury a-listening! I’ve been hunting the world over for you. You hid here. Here I find you—I, a poor, deserted woman, whose life has been wrecked by your faithlessness. Me with a crape veil, a sniff in my nose, crushed-creature face make-up and a smart lawyer, such as I have in mind this very minute. And the jury knowing that you’ve got the money! Why, Look, you can save thousands by handing me your bankbook!”