“I never took a drink in my life and you know it, Muriel Hamilton.”
“Well, I don’t count you a man. You are a beast, you are!”
“Thanks, awfully,” replied he, bowing scornfully.
Muriel tried to rise and bow, but fell back in the chair with a silly laugh. “Oh, you are welcome. Gee! I nearly fell off my perch. Steady, birdie, steady!”
Pierson strode back and forth in the little place, finally stopping before the woman, saying:
“You may as well understand this, now, Muriel. I am sick and tired of the way you are going on. I know I’ve done some things that would not stand the light of day exactly, but I never drank. I’ve committed some crimes, but drunkenness has never been one of them, and I hate liquor. I tell you this, right now: you’ve got to sober up and stop drinking—or—I’ll quit you cold.”
At this open threat, Muriel sat up straight and looked at the man half-defiant, half-scared. He maintained his coldly resolute look, while she scanned his face, and then half-laughed:
“By heaven! I believe you mean it. Just you try it on, Jack Pierson. Just you try it on, that’s all!”
“I’ll take a stroll. I needs de fresh air. It’s de sidewalk fer mine,” said Dopey, uneasily. He had seen too many drunken fights to wish to see another, especially with a powerful woman like Muriel. But Jack went to him and muttered:
“You stay here. I’ll have it out with her here and now. I want to make room for the other one.”