“Stay where you are, Jim!” he commanded. “If the trouble’s what you think it is, I’m more to blame than anybody else, and you sha’n’t leave this house till I’ve done my best to square you.”
“Thank you; but I don’t wish to be ‘squared.’ I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, and I have borne as many insults as I can stand. I’m going.”
“No, you ain’t. Not yet. I want you to stay.”
At that moment Stephen’s voice reached them from the adjoining room.
“I tell you I shall, Caro!” it proclaimed, fiercely. “Do you suppose I’m going to permit that fellow to come here again—or to go until he is made to understand what we think of him and why? No, by gad! I’m the man of this family, and I’ll tell him a few things.”
Pearson’s jaw set grimly.
“You may let go of my wrist, Captain Warren,” he said; “I’ll stay.”
Possibly Stephen’s intense desire to prove his manliness made him self-conscious. At any rate, he never appeared more ridiculously boyish than when, an instant later, he marched into the library and confronted his uncle and Pearson.
“I—I want to say—” he began, majestically; “I want to say—”
He paused, choking, and brandished his fist.