Peter realized that this was an unfortunate remark. Guffey was on his feet again, pacing up and down the room, calling Peter the names of all the barnyard animals, and incidentally revealing that he had already had an interview with Mr. Ackerman, and that Mr. Ackerman was not disposed to receive amicably the news that the secret service bureau which he had been financing, and which was supposed to be protecting him, had been the means of introducing into his home a couple of high-class criminals who had cracked his safe and made off with jewels that they guessed were worth fifty thousand dollars, but that Mr. Ackerman claimed were worth eighty-five thousand dollars. Peter was informed that he might thank his lucky stars that Guffey didn’t shut him in the hole for the balance of his life, or take him into a dungeon and pull him to pieces inch by inch. As it was, all he had to do was to get himself out of Guffey’s office, and take himself to hell by the quickest route he could find. “Go on!” said Guffey. “I mean it, get out!”
And so Peter got to his feet and started unsteadily toward the door. He was thinking to himself: “Shall I threaten them? Shall I say I’ll go over to the Reds and tell what I know?” No, he had better not do that; the least hint of that might cause Guffey to put him in the hole! But then, how was it possible for Guffey to let him go, to take a chance of his telling? Right now, Guffey must be thinking to himself that Peter might go away, and in a fit of rage or of despair might let out the truth to one of the Reds, and then everything would be ruined forever. No, surely Guffey would not take such a chance! Peter walked very slowly to the door, he opened the door reluctantly, he stood there, holding on as if he were too weak to keep his balance; he waited—waited—
And sure enough, Guffey spoke. “Come back here, you mut!” And Peter turned and started towards the head detective, stretching out his hands in a gesture of submission; if it had been in an Eastern country, he would have fallen on his knees and struck his forehead three times in the dust. “Please, please, Mr. Guffey!” he wailed. “Give me another chance!”
“If I put you to work again,” snarled Guffey, “will you do what I tell you, and not what you want to do yourself?”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Guffey.”
“You’ll do no more frame-ups but my frame-ups?”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Guffey.”
“All right, then, I’ll give you one more chance. But by God, if I find you so much as winking at another girl, I’ll pull your eye teeth out!”
And Peter’s heart leaped with relief. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Guffey!”
“I’ll pay you twenty dollars a week, and no more,” said Guffey. “You’re worth more, but I can’t trust you with money, and you can take it or leave it.”