"Not for the first time," said Fullerton in level tones, with a slow lifting of his lowered eyelids.
The effect of those quiet words on Lawrence's temper was surprising. Instantly his hand flashed out and he slapped Fullerton's face.
In a moment half a dozen men were between them. Some one restored Fullerton's hat, which had fallen off at his sudden start, while others officiously laid restraining hands on Lawrence, who was trembling like a nervous horse.
"You may think a trick will win, but, by my soul, I'll take the trick," he cried hotly.
Fullerton, who was quite white except where the marks of Lawrence's fingers burned like a new brand on his cheek, stood perfectly still for an instant, with his eyes on the floor, as though waiting for anything further that his opposing counsel might have to say. Then he replaced his hat, bowed slightly to the group, and walked away to the elevator.
"Jove, if I had the grip on my temper that Fullerton has, I'd be Attorney General by now," said Lawrence lightly. "Guess I'll take the other elevator, all the same." And he walked jauntily down the hall.
The collected group of men burst into excited cross-currents of talk.
"What was it all about?"
"What will Fullerton do?"
"Gee, but Lawrence might be disbarred for that."