The fist was within an inch of Jimmy's chin.
Outwardly calm, inwardly very much alive to the fact that at any moment the primitive man in him might lead his prospective father-in-law beyond the confines of self-restraint, Jimmy sat still in his chair, his eyes fixed steadily on those of his relative-to-be. It was an uncomfortable moment. Mr. McEachern, if he made an assault, might regret it subsequently. But he would not be the first to do so. The man who did that would be a certain James Pitt. If it came to blows, the younger man could not hope to hold his own with the huge policeman.
"You!" roared McEachern. Jimmy fancied he could feel the wind of moving fist. "You marry me daughter! A New York crook. The sweepings of the Bowery. A man who ought to be in jail. I'd like to break your face in."
"I noticed that," said Jimmy. "If it's all the same to you, will you take your fist out of my mouth? It makes it a little difficult to carry on a conversation. And I've several things I should like to say."
"Ye'll listen to me!"
"Certainly. You were saying?"
"Ye come here. Ye worm yourself into my house, crawl into it——"
"I came by invitation, and in passing, not on all fours. Mr.
McEachern, may I ask one question?"
"What is ut?"
"If you didn't want me, why did you let me stop here?"