“You miserable, swindlin' make-believe!” he growled, his voice shaking with emotion. “You—you come here and—and pretend—Oh, by The Almighty, if you was a man, if you wasn't the—the poor, pitiful fool that you be, I'd—I'd—”
His daughter had reached his side. “Father,” she begged. “Father, for my sake—”
“Be still! Be still, girl!... Marietta Hoag, you answer me. Who put you up to tellin' me to sell that stock to Pulcifer? Who did it? Answer me?”
Marietta tried, but she could do little but gurgle. She gurgled, however, in her natural tones, or a frightened imitation of them. Little Cherry Blossom had, apparently, fluttered to the Chinese spiritland.
“I—I—Oh, my good land!” she wailed.
“Answer!”
“Father—father!” cried Lulie. “Don't talk so! Don't act so!”
“Act so! Be still! Let me alone, Martha Phipps! This woman here is a cheat. She's a liar! How do I KNOW? DON'T ask such fool questions. I know because—because she says my wife—Julia—my wife—tells me to sell my four hundred shares of Wellmouth Development stock—”
“Yes, of course. But, perhaps—”
“There ain't any perhaps. You, woman,” addressing the cowering medium, “didn't you say that?”