I don't care a rap what you think,
old feller! Remember that!"
A shadow appeared on the doorsill; and Morgan Pell came in. His face was
harder than ever. It was obvious that he had not thrown away the bottle of
tequila until he had consumed the contents. His eye lit on Hardy at once,
but he said nothing to him. Instead, he meandered toward Gilbert and
observed, insolently enough:
"Look here, you've kept me waiting too long. What does this mean, eh?"
"I'm sorry," Gilbert returned. "I forgot all about you for the moment. Oh,"
he suddenly remembered that Hardy and Pell were unacquainted, "you two
gentlemen ought to know each other. Mr. Pell, shake hands with Mr. Hardy."
Pell gave the other a curt nod. "How are you?" was all he could bring
himself to say.
"Pleased to meet you," answered Hardy, and turned away, "Red" and Angela,
interested spectators of this foolish proceeding, sat together on the
little settee by the window near the door, and smiled at the
shillyshallying of two grown men who should have known better.
Civilization! A mockery, surely, when two men couldn't be amenable in the
presence of others--two men who apparently had no reason for treating each
other this way.
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