"Jas--for God's sakes--no--no!" "Gimme! By God! you hear--gimme!" There was a wrenching movement of his body, a fumbling beneath the pillow, and Mr. Jastrow suddenly held forth, in crouched attitude of cunning, something cold, something glittering, something steel. "Now," he said, head jutting forward, and through shut teeth--"now gimme, or by God--" "Jas--Jas--for God's sake have you gone crazy? Where'd you get that gun? Is that where I heard you sneaking this morning--over to my trunk for my watch-dog? Gimme that gun--Jas! You--you're crazy--Jas!" "You gimme, was what I said, and gimme quick! You see this thing pointing? Well, gimme quick." "Jas--" "Don't 'Jas' me. I'm ugly this time, and when I'm ugly _I'm ugly!_" "All right! All right! Only, for God's sakes, Jas, don't get out of bed, don't get crazy enough to shoot that thing. I'll get it. Wait, Jastrow; it's all right, you're all right. I'll get it. See, Teenie's going. Wait--wait--Teenie's going--" She edged out and she edged in, hysteria audible in her breathing. "Jas honey, won't you please--" "Gimme, was what I said--gimme and quick!" Her arm under his head, the glass tilted high against his teeth, he drank deeply, gratefully, breathing out finally and lying back against his pillow, his right hand uncurling of its clutch. She lifted the short-snouted, wide-barreled, and steely object off the bed-edge gingerly, tremblingly. "More like it," he said, running his tongue around his mouth; "more like it." "Jas--Jas, what have you done?" "Great stuff! Great stuff!" He kept repeating. "If--if you wasn't so sick, honey--I don't know what I'd do after such a terrible thing like this--you acting like this--so terrible--God! I--I'm all trembling." "Great stuff!" he said, and reaching out and eyes still closed, patting her. "Great stuff, nice old Big Tent!" "Try to sleep now, Jas. You musta had a spell of craziness! This is awful! Try to sleep. If only you don't get a spell--Sleep--please!" "You wait! Guy with the collar on wrong side round--he's the one; he's the one!" "Yes--yes, honey. Try to sleep!" "I wanna dream I'm Rockefeller. If there's one thing I want to dream, it's Rockefeller." "Not now--not now--" "Lemme go to sleep like a king." "Yes, honey." "Like a king," I said. She slid her hand finally into one of the voluminous folds of her dress, withdrawing and placing a rubber-bound roll into his hands. "There, honey. Go to sleep now--like a king." He fingered it, finally sitting up to count, leaning forward to the ring of lamplight. "Six hundred bucks! Six hundred! Wow--oh, wow! If Sid could only see me now!" "He can, honey--he can. Go to sleep. 'Sh-h-h-h!'" "Slide 'em under--slide 'em under--Rockefeller." She lifted his head, placing the small wad beneath. He turned over, cupping his hand in his cheek, breathing outward deeply, very deeply. "Jas!" "Huh?"