cutting edge. “You've got a sweet idea of what's straight, Larry: dropping us without a leader, just when we need a leader most.”
Larry's composed yet watchful gaze was still on Barney. “You're not really left in such a bad way. Barney here is ready to take charge.”
“You bet I am!” Barney flamed at him, his hands clenching. “And the bunch won't lose by the change, you bet! The bunch always thought you were an ace—and I always knew you were a two-spot. And now they'll see I was right—that you were always yellow!”
Larry still leaned against the safe in the same posture of seeming ease, but he expected Barney to strike at any moment, and held himself in readiness for a flashing fist. Barney had been hard to hold in leash in the old days; now that all ties of partnership were broken, he saw in those small gleaming eyes a defiance and a hatred that henceforth had no reason for restraint. And he knew that Barney was shrewd, grimly tenacious, and limitless in self-confidence and ambition.
“And listen to this, too, Larry Brainard,” Barney's temper carried him on. “Don't you mix in and try any preaching on Maggie.” He half turned his head jealously. “Maggie, don't you listen to any of this boob's Salvation Army talk!”
Maggie did not at once respond, but stood gazing at the two confronting figures. To her they were an oddly dissimilar pair: Barney in the smartest clothes that an over-smart Broadway tailor could create, and Larry in the shapeless garments that were the State's gift to him on leaving prison.
“Maggie,” he repeated, “don't you listen to this boob's talk!”
“I'll do just as I please, Barney.”
“But you're going to come our way?” he demanded.
“Of course.”
He turned back to Larry. “You hear that? You leave Maggie alone!”
Larry did not answer, though his temper was rising. He looked over Barney's head at Maggie's father.
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