George stopped laughing. "Let her ask for it," he said again.
Randy twisted the wrists. It was a cruel trick. But his Indian blood was uppermost.
"Drop it," he said, with another twist, and the fan fell.
But Randy was not satisfied. "Do you think," he said, "that I am through with you? What you need is tar and feathers, but failing that——" he did not finish his sentence. He caught George around the body and began to push him back towards the fountain.
George fought doggedly—but Randy was strong with the muscular strength of youth and months of military training.
"I'll kill you for this," George kept saying.
"No," said Randy, conserving his breath, "they don't—do it—in—these—days——"
He had Dalton now at the rim and with a final effort of strength he lifted him—there was a splash, and into the deeps of the great basin went George, while the bronze Neptune, and the bronze dolphins, and the nymphs with flowing hair, splashed and spouted a welcoming chorus that drowned his cry!
Randy, head up, eyes shining, marched into the house and had a servant brush him off and powder a scratch on his chin; then he went down-stairs to the Hunt Room and strode across the room until he came to where Becky sat in her corner.