"I’ve called his bluff, if it is bluff. I’ve told him that he can take Posy, march her out of this house as she is." "What did he say to that?" "I should have downed him, but, by Gum, the old lady butted in. Swore solemn she’d leave my house, if I turned Posy out. She means it, too!" "A good riddance," snarled Tomlin. Quinney exploded, shaking his clenched fist in front of the huge, red face. "What? I’d have you to know, Tom Tomlin, that my Susan and me have stuck together through thick and thin. I think the world of her, but she’s without guile, bless her, and as obstinate as Balaam’s ass!" "S’pose you tell me where I come in?" "Here and now, by the back-door! This dirty dog threatens to down me with the true story of them chairs. And he’ll do it, too. Now, let this soak in together with all that port and champagne you swallered last night. If he downs me, he downs you! Got it?" Assuredly Tomlin had "got it." He began to shake with impotent rage, growling out: "Threatens to split? I’d like to tell that young man exactly what I think of him." "You can," said Quinney derisively; "but it will do you more good than him, I reckon. We’ll send for him in a jiffy. Ever notice my typist and stenographer, Miss Dredge?" "Yes, many a time. Nice-lookin’ gal." "This maggot of a Miggott has been eatin’ into her young affections, see?" "Has he? The young man has taste, Joe. Reg’lar lady-killer!" Quinney lowered his voice: "It’s a weapon, but I don’t rely on it. I can’t use it, in fairness to Mabel, till we stand in the last ditch." "Why not? Got to think of ourselves, ain’t we?" Tomlin pulled out an immense silk bandana, and mopped a heated brow. "It’s two-edged, Tom. You ain’t yourself this morning, or you’d see, with your knowledge of the fair sex, that Posy might be keener on gettin’ this scamp, if she learned that another woman was after him. We’ll try to handle Master Miggott first." He crossed to the speaking-tube, and summoned James to the sanctuary. Then he sat down, very erect and austere, at his desk. *III* Presently James entered, carrying his head at the angle affected by Susan, looking very bland and self-confident. "Good-morning, Mr. Tomlin! Good-morning, Mr. Quinney!" Quinney acknowledged this salutation with a derisive grin. "Mornin’, Mr. Chesty! Bin usin’ a Sandow’s exerciser?" "No, sir; Indian clubs. Am I to state my case before Mr. Tomlin?" "Yes. Go ahead and state it. Don’t waste my time, or his, or your own." James addressed himself suavely to Tomlin, selecting his words carefully, speaking slowly, with the utmost respect. "Last night, Mr. Quinney threatened to turn his daughter into the street, because she’s engaged to be married to me." "My hand was forced, my lad. Go on." "I can support a wife, and Miss Quinney is ready to marry me by special licence this afternoon." "Quite sure o’ that?"