Leave this house, sir!'

"'Well, not to any extent. You're a good girl; I knowed it when I
first seen your picture. Now, I want you to tell me--'

"'Insolent! Shall I call the police?' Her voice was icy, and she
stood as solid as stone.

"'Madam, I'm as gentle as a jellyfish, and peaceful to a fault, but
if you raise a row before I finish my talk I'll claim no
responsibility over what occurs to the first eight or ten people that
intrudes,' and I drawed my skinnin' knife, layin' it on the planner.
'Philanthropy is raging through my innards, and two loving hearts
need joining!'

"'I don't love him,' she quotes, like a phonograft, ignoring my
cutlery.

"'I'll take exception to that ruling,' and I picks up a picture of
Justus she'd dropped as I broke in. She never batted an eye.

"'I nursed that lad through brain fever, when all he could utter was
your name.'

"'Has he been sick?' The first sign of spring lit up her peaks.

"'Most dead. Notice of the divorce done it. He's in bad shape yet.'
Morrow never had a sick day in his life, but I stomped both feet on
the soft pedal, and pulled out the tremulo stop.

"'Oh! Oh!' Her voice was soft, though she still stood like a birch.

"'Little girl,' I laid a hand on her shoulder. 'We both love that
boy. Come, now, what is the matter?'

"She flashed up like powder.

"'Matter? I thought he was a gentleman, even though he didn't love
me; that he had a shred of honour, at least. But no! He went to
Alaska and made a fortune. Then he squandered it, drinking,
fighting, gambling, and frittering it away on women. Bah! Lewd
creatures of the dance-halls, too.'

"'Hold up! Your dope sheet is way to the bad. There's something
wrong with your libretto. Who told you all that?'

"'Never mind. I have proof. Look at these, and you dare to ask me
why I left him?'

"She dragged out some pictures and throwed 'em at me.

"'Ah! Why didn't I let the kid kill him?' says I, through my teeth.

"The first was the gambling-room of the Reception. There stood
Morrow with the men under foot; there was the bottles and glasses;
the chips and cards, and also the distressful spectacle of Tarantula
Bill Joyce, a number twelve man, all gleaming teeth, and rolling
eyeballs, inserting hisself into a number nine opening, and doing
surprising well at it.

"'Look at them. Look at them well,' she gibed.

"The second was the Gold-Belt dance-hall, with the kid cavorting
through