“You must give it up,” he said hoarsely. “I am determined to have it, now, this instant.”
Minkie remained quite passive.
“If I call my father he will horsewhip you,” she said coolly.
“Give me that ju-ju,” he almost whimpered, such was his fury.
“You have satisfied yourself that I have not got it,” she answered. “Take your hands off me, or it will be bad for you. If you ever dare to touch me again, you will never see it. If you try to behave as decently as you know how, I may, perhaps, discuss terms.”
It was ludicrous to watch his change of attitude. From a bold lion he became a cringing jackal. He almost wept with relief at the mention of the word “terms.”
“Anything you like,” he cried eagerly. “What do you want—money, diamonds, anything?—but I must have it now.”
The man was crazy, talking that way to a girl just turned fourteen. Had she been ten years older she might have listened; twenty, and she might have closed the deal straight off. But Minkie was young enough to be chivalrous, and she meant to make Schwartz eat mud.
“You cannot obtain it now,” she said, speaking as calmly as she does to Mole when she wants the tennis net fixed. “You had better cool down rapidly, because you will not see your ju-ju until New Year’s Day—”
“What!” he yelled, forgetting himself and trying to grab her again. This time Minkie adopted tactics which I fully approved of. She sprang back and sideways, placing my chair between Schwartz and herself. Then she seized a heavy glass encrière.