"No, sir," he said, "I'll not shake hands with a scallawag. Not till he's done the right thing, by gad!"
"Wow, doc! What's bitin' you?"
"Lad," said Dr. McDermott sternly, "I'm not here on any pleasure call. I've come as a matter of duty, mon to mon to ask—to demand—that you do the right thing by that puir lass."
"Lass? Who do you mean?"
"You know domned well who I mean. None other, mon, but Nettie Day."
At the mention of that name Cyril's face turned suddenly gray and stern.
"There are certain things I don't discuss with no man, doc. One of them's—Nettie. I don't let no man talk to me about her. Some coyotes on the road stopped me, and started to blat some stuff about her, but they shut up tight enough and gave me the heels of their broncs before they'd barely got started with that line of talk. And I ain't lettin' even an old friend like you say anything about Nettie. What's fallen between her and me is our affair."
Dr. McDermott's fist came heavily down upon the table.
"Lad, ye're going to marry that girl, if I have to shove you by your neck to the parson."