Part 22 (1/2)
His stare at me was protracted to an unseemly length before the sting of this remark reached him; it penetrated finally, however, and in his sharp change of posture there was a lightning flicker of the experienced boxer; but he checked the impulse, and took up the task of obliterating me in another way.
”As I tell the little dame here,” he said, pitching his voice higher and affecting the plaintive, ”I make no pa.s.ses at a friend o' her--not in front o' her, anyways. But when it comes to these here ole, ancient curiosities”--he cackled again, loudly--”well, I guess them clo'es I see, that day, kin hand it out t' anything they got in the museums!
'Look here,' I says to the waiter, 'THESE must be'n left over f'm ole Jeanne d'Arc herself,' I says. 'Talk about yer relics,' I says. Whoos.h.!.+
I'd like t' died!” He laughed violently, and concluded by turning upon me with a contemptuous flourish of his stick. ”You think I d'know what makes YOU so raw?”
The form of repartee necessary to augment his ill humour was, of course, a matter of simple mechanism for one who had not entirely forgotten his student days in the Quarter; and I delivered it airily, though I s.h.i.+vered inwardly that Miss Elliott should hear.
”Everything will be all right if, when you dine at the inn, you'll sit with your back toward me.”
To my shamed surprise, this roustabout wit drew a nervous, silvery giggle from her; and that completed the work with Mr. Percy, whose face grew scarlet with anger.
”You're a hot one, you are!” he sneered, with shocking bitterness.
”You're quite the teaser, ain't ye, s'long's yer lady-friend is lukkin'
on! I guess they'll be a few surprises comin' YOUR way, before long.
P'raps I cudn't give ye one now 'f I had a mind to.”
”Pshaw,” I laughed, and, venturing at hazard, said, ”I know all YOU know!”
”Oh, you do!” he cried scornfully. ”I reckon you might set up an' take a little notice, though, if you knowed 'at I know all YOU know!”
”Not a bit of it!”
”No? Maybe you think I don't know what makes you so raw with ME? Maybe you think I don't know who ye've got so thick with at this here Pigeon House; maybe you think I don't know who them people ARE!”
”No, you don't. You have learned,” I said, trying to control my excitement, ”nothing! Whoever hired YOU for a spy lost the money. YOU don't know ANY-thing!”
”I DON'T!” And with that his voice went to a half-shriek. ”Maybe you think I'm down here f'r my health; maybe you think I come out f'r a pleasant walk in the woods right now; maybe you think I ain't seen no other lady-friend o' yours besides this'n to-day, and maybe I didn't see who was with her--yes, an' maybe you think I d'know no other times he's be'n with her. Maybe you think I ain't be'n layin' low over at Dives! Maybe I don't know a few real NAMES in this neighbourhood! Oh, no, MAYBE not!”
”You know what the maitre d'hotel told you; nothing more.”
”How about the name--OLIVER SAFFREN?” he cried fiercely, and at last, though I had expected it, I uttered an involuntary exclamation.
”How about it?” he shouted, advancing toward me triumphantly, shaking his forefinger in my face. ”Hey? THAT stings some, does it? Sounds kind o' like a FALSE name, does it? Got ye where the hair is short, that time, didn't I?”
”Speaking of names,” I retorted, ”'Oil Poicy' doesn't seem to ring particularly true to me!”
”It'll be gud enough fer you, young feller,” he responded angrily. ”It may belong t' me, an' then again, it maybe don't. It ain' gunna git me in no trouble; I'll luk out f'r that. YOUR side's where the trouble is; that's what's eatin' into you. An' I'll tell you flat-foot, your gittin' rough 'ith me and playin' Charley the Show-Off in front o' yer lady-friends'll all go down in the bill. These people ye've got so chummy with--THEY'LL pay f'r it all right, don't you shed no tears over that!”
”You couldn't by any possibility,” I said deliberately, with as much satire as I could command, ”you couldn't possibly mean that any sum of mere money might be a salve for the injuries my unkind words have inflicted?”
Once more he seemed upon the point of destroying me physically, but, with a slight shudder, controlled himself. Stepping close to me, he thrust his head forward and measured the emphases of his speech by his right forefinger upon my shoulder, as he said:
”You paint THIS in yer pitchers, m' dear friend; they's jest as much law in this country as they is on the corner o' Twenty-thoid Street an'
Fif' Avenoo! You keep out the way of it, or you'll git runned over!”
Delivering a final tap on my shoulder as a last warning, he wheeled deftly upon his heel, addressed Miss Elliott briefly, ”Glad t' know YOU, lady,” and striking into the by-path by which he had approached us, was soon lost to sight.
The girl faced me excitedly. ”What IS it?” she cried. ”It seemed to me you insulted him deliberately--”