"Don't want to run away."
The annoyed pugilist sat down and scrutinised his visitor critically.
"You never do anything you don't want to, I guess?"
"No," said Ogden simply. "You've got a funny nose," he added dispassionately. "What did you do to it to make it like that?"
Mr. Mitchell shifted restlessly on his chair. He was not a vain man, but he was a little sensitive about that particular item in his make-up.
"Lizzie says it's the funniest nose she ever saw. She says it's something out of a comic supplement."
A dull flush, such as five minutes with the bag had been unable to produce, appeared on Jerry Mitchell's peculiar countenance. It was not that he looked on Lizzie Murphy, herself no Lillian Russell, as an accepted authority on the subject of facial beauty; but he was aware that in this instance she spoke not without reason, and he was vexed, moreover, as many another had been before him, by the note of indulgent patronage in Ogden's voice. His fingers twitched a little eagerly, and he looked sullenly at his tactless junior.
"Get out!"
"Huh?"
"Get outa here!"