“Cut that!”
The eyes of the two men locked. Cassidy struggled with all his pride against the dominant fury this man hurled on him.
“What?” he demanded, blusteringly. But his tone was weaker than its wont.
“I mean,” Garson repeated, and there was finality in his accents, a deadly quality that was appalling, “I mean, cut it out—now, here, and all the time! It don't go!” The voice rose slightly. The effect of it was more penetrant than a scream. “It don't go!... Do you get me?”
There was a short interval of silence, then the officer's eyes at last fell. It was Aggie who relieved the tension of the scene.
“He's got you,” she remarked, airily. “Oi, oi! He's got you!”
There were again a few seconds of pause, and then Cassidy made an observation that revealed in some measure the shock of the experience he had just undergone.
“You would have been a big man, Joe, if it hadn't been for that temper of yours. It's got you into trouble once or twice already. Some time it's likely to prove your finish.”
Garson relaxed his immobility, and a little color crept into his cheeks.
“That's my business,” he responded, dully.