Again the other flushed. “Well, by God!” he said, half to himself; and then, making a last effort to hold his bluff—“You're kidding me!”
“'Kidding,' as you call it, is one of the favourite occupations of society, Cotton. A good part of our intercourse consists of it—at least among the younger set.”
Suddenly the marshal rose. “Say,” he demanded, “would you mind going back upstairs for a few minutes?”
Hal could not restrain his laughter at this. “I should mind it very much,” he said. “I have been on a bread and water diet for thirty-six hours, and I should like very much to get out and have a breath of fresh air.”
“But,” said the other, lamely, “I've got to send you up there.”
“That's another matter,” replied Hal. “If you send me, I'll go, but it's your look-out. You've kept me here without legal authority, with no charge against me, and without giving me an opportunity to see counsel. Unless I'm very much mistaken, you are liable criminally for that, and the company is liable civilly. That is your own affair, of course. I only want to make clear my position—when you ask me would I mind stepping upstairs, I, answer that I would mind very much indeed.”
The camp-marshal stood for a bit, chewing nervously on his extinct cigar. Then he went to the door. “Hey, Gus!” he called. Hal's jailer appeared, and Cotton whispered to him, and he went away again. “I'm telling him to get you some food, and you can sit and eat it here. Will that suit you better?”
“It depends,” said Hal, making the most of the situation. “Are you inviting me as your prisoner, or as your guest?”
“Oh, come off!” said the other.
“But I have to know my legal status. It will be of importance to my lawyers.”