From this coign of vantage he sent a Parthian shaft.
"Till eight o'clock, Mistah--ah--Tomkinson!"
The three held the raging Thompson with some mutual dishevelment. They
soothed him with flattery, stayed him with flagons, for he yearned for
blood with a great yearning.
"Listen to your friends, boy," urged Mitchell. "Take his money, and
don't do anything you'll be sorry for. Make out your papers and pay no
attention to what he says. Come, brace up! It'll be time for dinner
in a jiffy. Promise us not to drink any more, and not to make any
trouble, or we'll 'phone him not to come."
Steve allowed himself to be pacified at last, but he regarded his
mitigators with a malignant eye.
"Here's what I owe you on bridge, Mitchell--twenty-three dollars," he
said sullenly. "Archibald can settle with Loring. _I_ don't want no
dinner--I'm going to sleep."
"Oh, come on now, that's a good fellow," purred Mitchell, picking
up the two bills and the coins. "Say, old man--you haven't turned
counterfeiter, have you?" he said good-naturedly. "This one's N.G."
Steve took it clumsily. "It's no such thing," he blurted. "Good as
gold. Take it or leave it. I don't care."
"Oh, very well," said Mitchell, humoring him. Then he reflected. The
indications were that their projected _coup_ might fail if Steve's
surly humor kept up.
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