“I said, put it away.” The little guy was quite shocked that he had to speak twice.
Clive hesitated, blinked, then pushed the gun into his hip pocket. He stood undecided, his hands fluttering at his coat. Then quite suddenly, he began to cry. His face puckered up like a little indiarubber mask that someone had squeezed. He sat himself on a chair and covered his face with his thin bony hands and cried.
The little guy sighed. He said to Duffy, “See, you’ve upset him now.”
Duffy threw his hat on the settee and ran his fingers through his hair.
The big tough came over from the window and patted Clive’s head. He didn’t say anything, but just patted the youth quite heavily on his head.
The little guy shifted uncomfortably. “Aw, I didn’t mean anything,” he said. “We ain’t supposed to pop this guy, so I couldn’t let you do it, could I?”
Clive took his hands away and said with a snivel, “But look how you spoke to me.”
“Sure, sure, I know,” the little guy smiled with his tight mouth. “I’m sorry. There, I can’t say more, can I? I’ve said I’m sorry, that’s pretty generous.”
Clive looked at the little guy earnestly. “It wasn’t what you said that upset me,” he said, “it was how you said it.”
“I know, it was the way I said it, wasn’t it?”