The other shifted in his seat.
“You forget I’ve a reputation with a machine gun!”
“So has Gallagher, and so has Dago, Hegarty!”
The visitor arose abruptly.
“I can’t pay thirty per cent and I’m not going to. This is war, Nevens. You may think you can get control of this entire country, and you’ve murdered fifty men so far to do it, but I’m not done yet! Now I’ll make a proposition of my own—you pay me ten per cent from now on of your entire income, or I’ll rub you out!”
Gallagher knew that this was preposterous and so did Hegarty but it was said and done and it meant war between the two factions. That there might be instant gun-play in that small room, Mr. Sandborn had no fear. Both men were crack shots and each respected the other’s speed in drawing a weapon.
“Let’s make it a week from to-day, at midnight, Hegarty,” Nevens suggested.
“Fine, and get your bullet-proof vest on, Cowboy—you’ll need it!”
The charming Mr. Hegarty left after that without the formality of shaking hands and Nevens put away the expensive cigar, breaking it in pieces in the ash tray, and getting out his old black one.
“Gallagher, I ain’t never seen none of your shootin’. What say you and Dago show me some typewriting?”