“Outside.”
“How could you hear all that outside? By Jove, man, you were under the window listening?” Tony’s voice took on a sharp note of contempt.
Finch shook like an aspen leaf.
“Answer me!” demanded Tony. “You weren’t trying to hear, were you?”
No reply. Poor Jake moistened his dry lips.
“Pah!” exclaimed Deering. “So the fellows are right, are they? you are a sneak?” He turned away in disgust, and started across the room. His hand was on the knob of the door, when Finch threw himself in his way, and grasped him tightly again by the arm.
“For God’s sake, Deering,” he cried in a queer cracked voice, “don’t throw me over. You are the only friend I’ve got. Don’t throw me over. I did it for your sake. God knows I did.”
Tony stopped. He was appalled and bewildered by the passion in poor Finch’s voice and attitude. He turned back at last, and thrust Finch a little roughly onto the couch. “Sit down there,” he said gruffly. “I guess I’d better have it all out of you right now.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll tell you everything,” whimpered Finch. “Don’t throw me over.”