"Certainly. A member of this club disgracefully drunk in the afternoon will certainly hear from the governing board unless he keeps out of sight until he's sane again."
"Thank you," said Quest with owlish condescension; "I'm indebted to you for calling 'tention to m-matters which 'volve honour of m' own club and——"
His voice rambled off into a mutter; he sat or rather fell into an armchair and lay there twitching and mumbling to himself and inspecting his automatic pistol with prominent watery eyes.
"You'd better leave that squirt-gun with me," said Grandcourt.
Quest refused with an oath, and, leaning forward and hammering the padded chair-arm with his unhealthy looking fist, he broke out into a violent arraignment of Dysart:
"Damn him!" he yelled, "I've written him, I've asked for an explanation, I've 'm-manded t' know why his name's coupled with my sister's——"
Duane leaned over, slammed the door, and turned short on Quest:
"Shut up!" he said sharply. "Do you hear! Shut up!"
"No, I won't shut up! I'll say what I damn please——"
"Haven't you any decency at all——"