James—who certainly was not a coward—surveyed his companion contemptuously.
“Much obliged to you for your kind offer,” said he, addressing Temple, “but I must decline it.”
“You’ve got too long a tongue, young man!” said Temple, provoked by the other’s coolness. “I’ve a mind to teach you a lesson.”
“When I want one I will let you know,” said Congreve, changing his tone and manner and regarding the other scornfully.
“Meanwhile, my man, I advise you not to drink so early in the morning. It doesn’t improve your naturally bad manners.”
With a muttered exclamation Ralph Temple sprang forward, prepared to handle Congreve roughly, as he was quite able to do, being much his superior in size and strength, but, with his hand nearly touching the shoulder of the young man, recoiled, as Congreve drew out a revolver and pointed it at him.
“One step further and I fire!” he said, in a calm, collected tone, while Philip stood by, as pale as a sheet.
“Confusion!” exclaimed the ruffian, in mingled amazement and dismay. “Who are you, anyway?”
“My name is James Congreve, at your service,” said the owner of that name, bowing. “I regret that I haven’t a card about me.”
“You’re a cool customer!” muttered Temple, surveying Congreve curiously.