“Yours. That’s why I tell you to get rid of that bunch and their Combat Club.”
“Why have you ask me such a–––”
“Because they’re fighting us and you know it. That’s a good enough reason.”
“I shall not do so,” said Puma, moistening his lips with his tongue.
“Oh, I guess you will when you think it over,” sneered Sondheim, getting up from his chair and stuffing his newspaper into his overcoat pocket. He crossed the floor and shot an ugly glance at Puma en passant. Then he jerked open the door and went out briskly.
Puma walked into the inner waiting room, where a telephone operator sat reading a book.
“Where’s McCabe?” he asked.
“Here he comes now, Governor.”
The office manager sauntered up, eating a slice of apple pie, and Puma stepped forward to meet him.
“For what reason have you permit Mr. Sondheim to wait in my office?” he demanded.