"I've told you I don't like the cut of your coat," was the answer. "Put up your hands, if you don't want me to take my stick to you."
"The man must have lost his mind! Mr. Burgoyne, can't you do something?" Porshinger cried, retreating until his back was against the railing.
For answer, Pendleton's left shot out and tapped Porshinger lightly on the nose.
"Put up your hands," said he, and tapped him again.
Murchison sprang between them.
"Stop!" he cried. "What do you mean, Pendleton?"
"I've already answered that question several times," Pendleton replied. "Sheldon, will you be kind enough to take charge of Mr. Murchison?"
"Come to think of it I don't like the cut of your coat either, Mr. Murchison," said Burgoyne. "Oblige me by standing aside."
"What's the matter with you damn fools?" demanded Murchison. "Are you trying to pick a fight?"
"Yes," said Pendleton quietly, "but we are meeting with very poor success;" and he tapped Porshinger a third time—and harder.