"She chucked the dancin' teacher out of a winder?" he repeated, blankly. "What for?"
"Goodness knows, Mr. Briskow! Something he said, or did—I couldn't make out precisely. I found her in a dreadful state, and I tried to comfort her, I did really, but—oh! If you could have heard her! Where she learned such language I don't know. My ears burn! But that isn't the worst; you should hear what—"
"He must of said something pretty low down." Briskow spoke quietly; his bright blue eyes were hard. "I reckon she'll tell me."
"You don't understand," chattered the woman. "She flung the man bodily out of the window and into a bed of thorns. It nearly killed him; he was painfully lacerated and bruised and—Right in the middle of a golf game! It did something dreadful—I don't know what—just as the world's champion caught the ball, or something."
"If he's crippled I'll get him that much easier," said Briskow, and at the purposeful expression upon his weather-beaten face Mrs. Ring uttered a faint bleat of terror. She pawed at him as he undertook to pass her.
"Oh, my heavens! What are you going to do?"
"Depends on what he said to Allie."
The woman wrung her hands. "What people! What—savages! You're—going to shoot him, I suppose, just because—"
"Yes'm!" the father nodded. "You got it right, motif an' all. 'Just because'!"
"You can't. I sha'n't permit it. I—I'll call the police."