Henry was knocked speechless for the moment. Thomas Akers came out swiftly, skidded a heel on the threshold, and came down to a sitting position with rather a dull thud. It knocked his hat down over his eyes, and he just sat there, wheezing audibly. It was all rather embarrassing. Judge and Oscar came to the doorway. Judge had tears in his eyes, but they were not from sympathy.
“All Ay done vars get up,” declared Oscar stolidly.
James Wadsworth Longfellow Pelly sat up in the dust, looking dazedly around, until his eyes centered on Thomas Akers. Then he said accusingly, “I told you it wouldn’t do any good.”
Akers got up, too. He braced one hand against a side of the doorway and felt behind him, his hat still over his eyes. Then he took off his hat, fanned himself a little and stared at J. W. L. Pelly, who was trying to brush off the dust.
“Gentlemen,” said Henry huskily, “I believe I am entitled to an explanation.”
“A what?” husked Pelly. “Explanation of what?”
“Of your attack on me, sir. Do not deny it! I start to enter my own office, and you fly at me—actually fly, sir! You are not satisfied with slanderous attacks on me in your filthy newspaper—you attack me physically. And you, Mr. Akers! Why did you jump up and down in the doorway of my office, blocking me from entering? Damnable discourteous, to say the least.”
Thomas Akers opened and shut his mouth several times, but no explanation came forth. He seemed in pain.
“As I told you before, it didn’t do any good, Mr. Akers,” Pelly said.
After Pelly delivered his “I told you so,” he started back up the street, flexing his knees, like a place-kicker getting ready to boot a football. After a moment of indecision, Mr. Akers followed him.