“Of course you don’t, a lady like you! He’s done the same game with nice ladies before. Keep your head square, Johnny, or I’ll give your neck a twist! And as to the money, you’ll march out with me to the other room, and you’ll fish it out, and the lady will kindly allow you fifty dollars of it for your tobacco while you’re in jail in Canada. That’s enough, Miss Courtlandt—more would be wasted—and if he doesn’t be quick and civil, I’ll act as his valet.”
The fortune-teller wheeled half round in an excess of passion, his fingers crooked on their way to his hip pocket; then his eye ran to the officer, who had simply doubled his fist and was looking at the other man’s neck. Instinctively Slater ducked his head; his hand dropped.
“No, no, please,” Miss Courtlandt pleaded; “let him keep it, if he will only go away.”
“Beg pardon, miss,” returned the inflexible Wickliff, “you’re only encouraging him in bad ways. Step, Johnny.”
“If you’ll let me have that five hundred,” cried Slater, “I’ll promise to go with you, though you know I have the legal right to stay.”
“You’ll go with me as far as you have to, and no farther, promise or no promise,” said Wickliff, equably. “You’re a liar from Wayback! And I’m letting you keep that revolver a little while so you may give me a chance to kill you. Step, now!”
Slater ground his teeth, but he walked out of the room.
“At least, give him a hundred dollars!” begged Miss Courtlandt as the door closed. In a moment it opened again, and the two re-entered. Slater’s wrists were in handcuffs; nevertheless, he had reassumed a trifle of his old jaunty bearing, and he bowed politely to Abbie, proffering her a roll of bills. “There are four hundred there, Miss Courtlandt,” said he. “I am much obliged to you for your generosity, and I assure you I will never bother you again.” He made a motion that she knew, with his shackled hands. “You are quite free from me,” said he; “and, after all, you will consider that it was only the money you lost from me. I always treated you with respect, and to-day was the only day I ever made bold to speak of you or to you by your given name. Good-bye, Miss Courtlandt; you’re a real lady, and I’ll tell you now it was all a fake about the spirits. I guess there are real spirits and real mediums, but they didn’t any of ’em ever fool with me. Good-afternoon, ma’am.”
“‘I’LL ACT AS HIS VALET’”