“Grape nuts for breakfast,” Myra said, shrugging. “You know what it does to some people.”
“Oh sure,” I said. “Perhaps he’d like some now.”
Bogle seemed to draw moss of the air around into his lungs. I took a menacing step forward.
Myra said quickly, “Do sit down and have a drink. It gives me a pain in the neck looking up at you.”
“Yeah?” Bogle said. “You’ll be getting more than a pain—and it won’t be in the neck either—if you don’t hand over my dough.”
Myra looked over at Ansell, “Has he been left out in the sun, do you think?”
Ansell’s small mouth tightened. “That line won’t get you anywhere,” he said firmly, “we want our money!”
I didn’t know what this was all about, but I did feel that two to one seemed pretty long odds.
“Listen fellas,” I said, easing back my chair. “If you can’t be civil, I must ask you to make a noise like an airplane and fly away.”
Bogle’s fists slowly knotted. “Did you hear what that punk said?” He turned slowly on me and pushed his great red face forward. “Open that big trap of yours again and I’ll tear your arm off and beat you to death with it.”