The merchant blazed up suddenly and passionately.
“God send me better thoughts than yours!” he cried.
“Why,” the dwarf remarked, “I was thinking of the pleasure of scratching your leg when you get them off again——”
But Moon waited for no more. He sprang to his feet, his hand raised to strike, and his face black with anger.
“Ye’ll not be warned, ye fool?” he cried in a breaking voice.
There was no question of Cope’s physical courage. The merchant could have crushed him, and every man seemed disturbed to find himself so far out of his reckoning. Instead of showing fear, Cope covered, bathed, enveloped the merchant in one baleful look, and said in an even voice, “Sit down.” The door opened, and Sally Northrop stood in the entry.
“What’s to do?” she cried; and Matthew’s eyes came slowly round to her. His hand fell, and he moved slowly backward to his seat.
“Nothing, Sally—get you gone—nobody wants anything—shut the door.”
She stood puzzled for a moment, then left, closing the door behind her. Moon leaned forward, both hands on the arms of his chair, and knit his brows at Cope.
“That’s the last,” he said. “Come the next, and I’ll serve you as they serve magpies.”