Barbara nodded.
"What is at the bottom of this row?" persisted Billy. He
had fallen back into the decent pronunciation that Barbara
had taught him, but neither noticed the change. For a
moment he had forgotten that he was playing a part. Then he
recollected.
"Nothing much," replied the girl. "I couldn't rid myself of
the feeling that they had murdered you, by leaving you back
there alone and wounded. I began to think 'coward' every
time I saw Mr. Mallory. I couldn't marry him, feeling that way
toward him, and, Billy, I really never LOVED him as--as--"
Again she stumbled, but the mucker made no attempt to
grasp the opportunity opened before him.
Instead he crossed the library to the telephone. Running
through the book he came presently upon the number he
sought. A moment later he had his connection.
"Is this Mallory?" he asked.
"I'm Byrne--Billy Byrne. De guy dat cracked your puss fer
youse on de Lotus."
"Dead, hell! Not me. Say, I'm up here at Barbara's."
"Yes, dat's wot I said. She wants youse to beat it up here's
swift as youse kin beat it."
Barbara Harding stepped forward. Her eyes were blazing.
"How dare you?" she cried, attempting to seize the telephone
from Billy's grasp.
He turned his huge frame between her and the instrument.
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