“Jimmie,” he remarked in his same even voice, “anything more you'd like to say?”
“I'm through.”
“Then,” said Larry, “better lead your new commander-in-chief out of here, or I'll carry him out and spank him.”
“What's that?” snarled Barney.
“Get out!” Larry ordered, in a voice suddenly like steel.
Barney's fist swung viciously at Larry's head. It did not land, because Larry's head was elsewhere. Larry did not take advantage of the opening to strike back, but as the fist flashed by he seized the wrist, and in the same instant he seized the other wrist. The next moment he held Barney helpless in a twisting, torturing grip that he had learned from one of his non-Christian friends at the Y.M.C.A.
“Barney—are you going to walk out, or shall I kick you out?”
Barney's answer came after a moment through gritted teeth: “I'll walk out—but I'll get you for this!”
“I know you'll try, Barney. And I know you'll try to get me behind my back.” Larry loosed his grip. “Good-night.”
Barney backed glowering to the door; and Old Jimmie, his gray face an expressionless mask, silently followed him out.
All this while the Duchess had looked on, motionless in her corner, a dingy, forgotten part of the dingy background—no more noticeable than one of her own dusty, bizarre pledges.
CHAPTER VI
For a moment after the door had closed upon Barney and Old Jimmie, Larry stood gazing at it. Then he turned to Maggie.
She was standing slenderly upright. Her head was imperiously high, her black eyes defiant. Neither spoke at once. More than before was he impressed by her present and her potential beauty. Till this night he had thought of her only casually, as merely a young girl; he was not now consciously in love with her—her young woman-hood had burst upon him too
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