“That’s so!” a fourth agreed. “No harm done. But we had a close shave, didn’t we?” And he grinned too.
Lem Speed approached me. “No hard feelings,” he said jocularly, and he held out his hand.
But is it a true joke—this American attempt at shirking responsibility under a bluff of facetiousness? It masquerades as humor every day—a pretty mongrel humor, more like true cowardice.
I turned to Scipio. “Tell this man that anything he wishes to say to me he will say through you.”
Speed flushed darkly. Had he kept his temper, he could easily have turned my speech to ridicule. But such a manner of meeting him was novel to a man used to having his own brutal way wherever he went, and he was disconcerted. He spoke loudly and with bluster:—
“You said some things about my wife and son that don’t go now.”
This delivered him into my hands. Again I addressed Scipio. “Say that I wish his family no further misfortune; they have enough in having him for husband and father.”
I think he would have shot me, but the others were now laughing. “He’s called the turn on you, Lem. Leave him be. He’s been annoyed some this morning.”
They now made ready to depart with their recovered property.
“You and your friend will come along with us?” one said to Scipio.