"You fool, hold your tongue! First I took you for a policeman----"
"I haven't come to that yet, sir," said the man in a tone of injury, and raising his shoulders to his ears as if to protect them from the pollution of hearing the word.
"And then I took you for a thief."
"Mr. Timmons!" cried the man pathetically. "Couldn't you see who I was? I never came here on business, sir. I came for the pleasure of seeing you, and to try if you would do a favour for me."
"Hold your tongue!" cried Timmons. "Hold your tongue, you fool."
The man said no more, but leaning his back against the wall, looked up blankly at the unceiled rafters and boards of the floor above.
The manner of Mr. John Timmons gradually became less volcanic. He arranged his necktie and thrust his hands deep into his trousers' pockets instead of swinging them round him, or running his fingers through his grizzled hair and whiskers. Suddenly he stopped before his visitor, and said grimly in a low voice, "Stamer, aren't you surprised you are alive?"
Stamer stood up on his feet away from the wall and said in a tone of expostulation, "Now, Mr. Timmons, it isn't so bad as that with me yet. I may have let one or two people see the barrel, you know, just to help business; but I never pulled trigger yet, sir. Indeed, I didn't."
"I mean, you fool, aren't you surprised I didn't kill you?" he asked heavily.
"You kill me, sir! For what?" cried the man in astonishment.