"Am I to understand that you refuse to tell me where she is?" demanded he, turning up the cuff of one of his coat-sleeves.
"That was the idea I intended to convey," I replied, imitating his example by rolling up one of my coat-sleeves.
"You won't tell me."
"No, sir."
"You know where she is?"
"I do."
"And won't tell?"
"I will not."
He turned up the other coat-sleeve, and I did the same.
"I'll tell you what it is, youngster, we have played this farce long enough," Tom proceeded, in a rage. "I want you to understand that I am not to be trifled with. You may make a fool of the old man, but you can't make a fool of me."