At this, hastily jerking his cigarette into the air-shaft, Butch got up, removed his hat and carefully placed it on the mantel, out of harm's way.
"You," said Thursby with apparent difficulty, breathing heavily between his words—"you shan't use that tone to me, young woman, and live in this house. More than that, you'll leave it this very night—now!—unless you promise to give up this fool's notion of the stage."
"Tonight!"
Joan paled; her lips tightened; but the glint in her eyes wasn't one of fright.
"Tonight!" her father reiterated with malicious pleasure in what he thought to be evidences of consternation. "And what's more, you're going to apologize to me now."
"Apologize to you!" Joan caught her breath sharply, and her next words came without premeditation; she was barely conscious, in her rage, that she employed them: "I'll be damned if I do!"
With an inarticulate cry, maddened beyond reason, Thursby lifted a heavy hand and stepped toward her.
Simultaneously Butch sprang forward, seized the menacing fist and dragged it down and back, with a movement so swift and deft that its purpose was accomplished and the hand pinned to the small of Thursby's back actually before he appreciated what was happening.
Even Joan was slow to comprehend the fact of this amazing intervention....
Nodding emphatically, "Beat it, kid," Butch counselled in a pleasant, unstrained tone—"beat it while the going's good.... Easy, now, guvner!"