O’Brien became impatient.
“Wal?” he demanded.
His persistence was rewarded at last. But it was rewarded with a shock which left him startled beyond retort.
Charlie suddenly brought a clenched fist down upon the counter with a force that set the glasses ringing.
“Fyles!” he cried fiercely, “Fyles! It’s always Fyles! God’s truth, am I never to hear, or see, the last of him? Say, you know. You think you know. But you don’t. Damn you, you don’t!”
Before the astonished saloonkeeper could recover himself and formulate the angry retort which rose to his lips, Charlie staggered out of the place.