The Definite Object Part 25

"Is she--do you mean she's back?" enquired Ravenslee, sitting up.

"Yes, she didn't stay at Englewood; she's down-stairs, doctoring Tony's kid."

"But what will she think of all these confounded messes?"

"Messes!" cried Spike indignantly. "Cheese it, Geoff--look at that turk'!"

"But--do you think she'll--mind?" enquired Ravenslee uneasily.

"Mind?" said Spike, staring. "Not on your life--why should she? Besides, it's kind o' lucky you happened to blow in with this free lunch; she's a bit shy on the dollar question this month--an' Mulligan comes t'morrow.

An' oh, say, Geoff--she's dead set on findin' out how I met you an'--an'

where."

"Very naturally!" murmured Ravenslee.

"An' we must tell her something--but what?"

"Spike, you've forgotten the mustard! And as for--er--lying to your sister, let our motto be 'sufficient unto the day.' Our present need is mustard, Spike."

"Say, this sure is goin' t' be some supper, Geoff!" said Spike, setting on the mustard and gazing at the array of edibles with s.h.i.+ning eyes.

"Gee, I could eat cold turkey all night!"

"Have we everything ready, Spike?"

"Except b.u.t.ter, Geoff."

"Ha! the one thing I forgot, of course! Cut off and get some like the good fellow you are!" and Ravenslee flicked a bill into Spike's hand, who, seizing his cap, promptly vanished. Being alone, Ravenslee crossed to the sideboard, and taking thence a certain photograph, seated himself in the easy-chair and fell to studying it with deep and grave attention.

And sitting thus, he let fancy run riot--and fancy was singularly pleasing to judge by the glow in his eyes and the tender smile that curved his lip.

He was lost deep within his dreams when he was aware of a loud knock upon the outer door which Spike had left unlatched and, replacing the photograph, he rose.

"Come in!" said he. A heavy step sounded in the little hall, the door was pushed open, and a man entered. He was a young man, big and broad-shouldered, and Ravenslee's keen eyes were quick to heed the length and ponderous carriage of the arms, the girth of chest, and firm, heavy poise of the feet; lastly he looked at the face, aggressively handsome with its dominating nose and chin, and blue eyes shaded by thick lashes, that looked out beneath heavy brows--a comely-seeming face from the dark, close-cropped hair to the deep cleft in the strong, fleshy chin.

But now, beneath Ravenslee's persistent regard, the full-curved, shapely lips grew slowly into a cruel, down-trending line, the nostrils expanded, while the blue eyes narrowed to s.h.i.+ning slits beneath quick-scowling, black brows. For a long moment the two men stared at each other, eye to eye, then, in a hoa.r.s.e, a.s.sertive tone the newcomer spoke.

"What you doin' here? Who are ye?"

Mr. Ravenslee sat down and began to fill his pipe.

"Where's d' Kid?"

Mr. Ravenslee brushed stray grains of tobacco from his knee with elaborate care.

"Hey, you! Where's Spike--'n' what you doin' here, anyway?"

Mr. Ravenslee glanced up casually. "And pray, who the devil may you be pleased to be?" he enquired.

"Me name's M'Ginnis!"

"Oh, indeed?"

"Yes--indeed! Bud M'Ginnis--Is that good 'nuff for ye?"

"Well, since you ask," said Ravenslee, shaking languid head, "I should scarcely cla.s.s you as a 'bud' myself. No--I should say you were perhaps just a trifle--er--overblown. But have it your own way!" and Mr.

Ravenslee smiled engagingly.

"Where's Spike?" demanded M'Ginnis, his tone a little gruffer, "and say--you can cut out the comedy, see? Nix on the funny business."

"You are a pessimist, I presume, Mr. Flowers?"

"Where's d' Kid? Speak up now--where is he?"

"Also, your conversation grows a little monotonous, Mr. Flowers."

M'Ginnis stared, then shot out his big chin viciously.

"What you doin' in Hermy's flat, eh?"

Mr. Ravenslee's brows wrinkled slightly, but his soft voice grew softer, as, pausing in the act of lighting his pipe, he answered: "On the whole I think you are a rather--er--unpleasant young man, so suppose you--er--go--"

"What? Go? Are ye tryin' t' tell me t' go?"

"I'm suggesting that you--er--crank up the machine, Mr. Flowers, and beat it while the going's good!"

M'Ginnis clenched his fist and took a threatening step toward Ravenslee, then checked himself and stood breathing heavily.

"May I further suggest," said Ravenslee in his pleasantest voice, "that you look in again--say next Thursday fortnight, Mr. Flowers?"

"T' h.e.l.l with you--me name's M'Ginnis."

"Of course you might leave a message, Mr. Flowers--"

"Now, see here, you!" said M'Ginnis, his words coming thick with pa.s.sion. "I wanter know, first, where Spike is. And then I wanter know who you are. And then I wanter know what you're after in Hermy Chesterton's flat--and you're sure goin' t' tell me!"

"Am I?"

"You sure are!"

Mr. Ravenslee opened the matchbox. "Seems a pity to shake a confidence so sublime," he sighed. "And yet--"

"An' see here again! I've known Hermy since we was kids, an' I don't allow no man t' come stamping around here--see? So you're goin' t' quit, an' you're goin' t' quit right now!"

"Do I look like a quitter, Mr. Flowers?"

Now beholding the speaker's lazy a.s.surance of pose, the contemptuous indifference of his general air, M'Ginnis stood speechless a moment, his clenched fists quivering, while, above the loosely-tied scarf, his powerful neck seemed to swell and show knotted cords that writhed and twisted, and when at last he spoke, his words came in a panting rush.

"This is Hermy's flat, an' I guess--you think you're safe here--but you ain't! I'm thinkin' out which'll do th' least harm to her furniture--to lick ye here or drag you out on to the landin' first!"