“Well?” he demanded of her.
She hesitated, and a surge of anger darkened his face. He turned upon Messner.
“Enough of this. You can’t stop here.”
“Yes, I can.”
“I won’t let you.” Womble squared his shoulders. “I’m running things.”
“I’ll stay anyway,” the other persisted.
“I’ll put you out.”
“I’ll come back.”
Womble stopped a moment to steady his voice and control himself. Then he spoke slowly, in a low, tense voice.
“Look here, Messner, if you refuse to get out, I’ll thrash you. This isn’t California. I’ll beat you to a jelly with my two fists.”