M'Ginnis made a swift step forward and halted, hard-breathing and menacing.
"How much?" he demanded.
"Fair name for a very foul thing, Mr. Flowers," repeated Ravenslee, glancing up at him from under slumberous, drooping lids—"anyway, Flowers you will remain!"
As they stared again, eye to eye, M'Ginnis edged nearer and nearer, head thrust forward, until Ravenslee could see the cords that writhed and swelled in his big throat, and he hitched forward a languid shoulder. "Don't come any nearer, Flowers," said he, "and don't stick out your jaw like that—don't do it; I might be tempted to try to—er—hit it!"
"What—you?" said M'Ginnis, and laughed hoarsely, while Ravenslee yawned again.
"An' now, Mr. Butt-in, if you're still awake—listen here. I guess it's about time you stopped foolin' around Hermy Chesterton—an' you're goin' t' quit—see!" Ravenslee's eyes flashed suddenly, then drooped as M'Ginnis continued: "So you're goin' t' sit down right here, an' you're goin' t' write a nice little note of farewell, an' you're goin' t' tell her as you love her an' leave her because I say so—see? Ah!" he cried, suddenly hoarse and anger-choked, "d' ye think I'll let Hermy look at a thing like you—do ye?—do ye?" and he waited. Ravenslee sat utterly still, and when at last he spoke his voice sounded even more gentle than before.
"My good Flowers, there is just one thing you shall not do, and that is, speak her name in my hearing. You're not fit to, and, Mr. Flowers, I'll not permit it."
"Is that so?" snarled M'Ginnis, "well, then, listen some more. I know as you're always hangin' around her flat, and if Hermy don't care about losing her good name—"
Even as Ravenslee's long arm shot out, M'Ginnis side-stepped the blow, and Ravenslee found himself staring into the muzzle of a revolver.
"Ah—I thought so!" he breathed, and shrank away.