“You’ll get one unbroken film from here to the nearest mortuary, if you’ve not gone in fifteen seconds,” said Gaymer, laying his watch on the table. “One, two, three, four....”
“I’m going to speak to the secretary,” said the young Jew with dignity. “Bear witness, Gracie! He started it!... Chucked out! That’s what’ll happen to you, sir!”
As he hurried away, Gaymer breathed luxuriantly.
“It’s a pity there’s not more lynching in England,” he observed, “but I’m glad I came in time to keep him from molesting you any further.”
“You didn’t ought to have treated him like that,” giggled the girl, who had enjoyed every moment of the altercation and was now looking furtively at the door in the hope of seeing her cavalier returning with the secretary. “He’ll never speak to me again.”
“He certainly won’t while I’m here. And, if I have any trouble, he’ll never speak to any one this side of the grave... Go to him, if you prefer it,” he added brusquely. “So far as I know, I’ve never killed a Jew yet. One ought to, just for the experience.”
“The things you say!,” cried the girl. “I’d—like to stay, only poor Mr. Lewis... You scared him away, no mistake... Champagne. Shall I go all funny if I drink it?”
“I hope so,” Gaymer answered, raising his glass cautiously. “God! it’s like treacle! Waiter, if you’ve any brandy fit to drink, bring it here!”
As his rival did not reappear, Gaymer cast about for other means of distraction. Once again he had been disappointed of his fight; and there was no satisfaction in accumulating the spoils of victory without a struggle. It was something, indeed, that he could “scare away” another man and win over a woman by a mere word; but the woman was not worth trouble... and the man was only fit to thrash....
“What’s your other name, Gracie?,” he asked abruptly. “What d’you do with yourself all day? Tell me all your absorbing life-history.”