"I'll wake ye up!" he panted. "Come out—come out, I say—oh, I'll wake ye up when I get ye outside, I guess. Come out! What you doin' in Hermy's flat? By God! I'll choke ye till you tell me!" and his hands came upon Ravenslee's throat—came to be met there by two other hands that, closing upon his wrists, wrenched and twisted viciously in opposite directions and, loosing his hold, M'Ginnis fell back, staring down at bruised and lacerated skin where oozed a few slow drops of blood.
"And now," said Ravenslee, rising, "after you, Mr. Flowers! Let us by all means step outside, where we will each earnestly endeavour to pitch the other down-stairs—personally, I shall do my very damnedest, for really I don't—no, I do not like you, Mr. Flowers; you need some one to tread on you a little. Step outside and let me try."
While M'Ginnis stared from his swelling, bloody wrists to Ravenslee's face—a face quite as fierce and determined as his own—steps were heard and Spike's voice called:
"Hermy come in yet, Geoff?"
"Not yet—but our friend Mr. Flowers has dropped in—socially, I fancy."
"Mr. Who?" enquired Spike at the door, but beholding M'Ginnis's angry face, he paused there, staring aghast. "Why—hello, Bud!" said he nervously. "What's wrong?"
"Nothin' much—yet, Kid, only it's kinder lucky for this guy as you happened in. Who is he? What's he doin' here?"
"He's only a friend o' mine, Bud, an' he's all right, 'n' say—"
"Tell him t' beat it."
"But y'see, Bud—"