Blow The Man Down: A Romance Of The CoastDay, Holman
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Blow The Man Down: A Romance Of The Coast
Day, Holman
Love stories; Ship captains -- Fiction; Yachts -- Fiction
“Just a moment before you use that 'phone,” objected the third member
of the party. “I want an understanding. You please step out of the room,
Mayo.”
“Stay where you are,” commanded Fogg. “I'll give no chance for any
underhand work.” He scowled when the prisoner winked at him. “This looks
to me like a put-up job between you two.”
“There's nothing put up between us,” declared the man. “There'd better
be something put up between _you_ two. The thing can go about so far,
where I'm concerned, and no farther. I want an understanding, I say!”
Fogg slapped open the pages of his newspaper.
“I have made my talk,” said Mayo.
“By gad, I'm not going to jail--not for anybody!”
Fogg removed his eye-glasses and gave the man a full, unblinking stare.
“Did you try to dynamite that wreck?”
“Is that orders--orders to talk right out?”
“Orders? I don't know what you mean, sir. I have asked you a plain
question.”
“And you want an answer?”
“Naturally.”
“What I tried to do didn't work--he was too quick for me. There, now,
get together! He has made you a fair offer, Mr. Fogg. There's no need of
my going to jail. I won't go!”
“You ought to go, for what you did!” commented Fogg, dryly.
“No, for what he didn't do--from your standpoint,” suggested Captain
Mayo.
“And you have been boasting, eh?” Fogg kept up his disconcerting stare,
with fishy eyes.
“I ain't going to let men walk over me and wipe their feet on me when
I'm obeying orders.”
“Orders from whom, sir?”
“Condemn it all, orders from men who can protect me by saying one word!
I ain't going to stand all this riddle-come-ree business! Flat down,
now, Mr. Fogg, what say?”
“Not a word! If what this fellow says is true, you ought to be in jail.”
“The advice is good. He'll be there very soon,” declared Mayo, starting
for the telephone. Fogg replaced his eye-glasses and began to read.
“I'm ready to blow up!” warned the man. He hurried across the room and
guarded the telephone with outspread arms.
“Both of you will be sorry if the police are called,” he cried. To Mayo,
who was close to him, he mumbled, “Damn him, if he dumps me like this
you're going to be the winner!”
There was so much reality in the man's rancor that Mayo was impressed
and seized upon the idea which came to him.
“We'll test your friend,” he whispered, clutching the man, and making
pretense of a struggle. “I'll fake a call. Keep wrestling.”
Fogg gave only indifferent attention to the affair in the corner of the
room.
With one hand holding down the receiver-arm Mayo called; he was
pushed about violently, but managed to say: “Desk? Call police to
hotel--lobby--at once!”
“Mr. Fogg,” pleaded the man, giving Mayo an understanding nudge with his
elbow, “ain't you going to give me a chance for a private talk?”
“If you ever speak to me or try to see me again I'll have you arrested.”
“But you're dumping me.”
“Get out of this room, both of you! I don't want the police up here.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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