"You are not worth even a broken stick," he declared—and turned away.
The noise of the scuffle had distracted Dolittle and Emerson from their own quarrel, and they had come around the corner and were staring in amazement at the other two.
"I'll break you, you snob," Porshinger sputtered. "I'll take every dollar you have, if it costs me a million to do it."
Pendleton shrugged his shoulders indifferently and continued straight over to the other two men.
"Mr. Emerson," he said, "I want to compliment you on what you have said to this cad Dolittle. Yours was the conduct of a gentleman." Then he turned to Dolittle. "As for you, you miserable retailer of scurrilous gossip, I'm going to give you an opportunity to finish your tale."
His right hand shot out and seized Dolittle by the top of the waistcoat; at the same time his left hand grasped the other's left wrist. In a twinkle Dolittle's arm lay extended palm upwards across Pendleton's right arm, and Pendleton was standing close beside him.
It was all done in an instant—and before Dolittle realized what was happening he was absolutely helpless. Pendleton had but to press down and the arm would snap like a pipe-stem.
Dolittle's first struggle was also his last. His right arm was free, and with it he swung heavily at Pendleton's head—only to be lifted off his feet by a slight downward pressure on his left wrist. The pain was so excruciating he cried out.—The blow was wasted on the air.
"It's no use, Dolittle," said Pendleton. "You can't touch me and you can't break my hold—though I can break your arm as readily as I can break a commandment—and what is more, I'll do it unless you finish your tale!"
"It was finished," Dolittle answered, balanced uncomfortably on one foot and perfectly helpless.