"I don't pretend to know what is the matter with you, and I don't much care!" he told Shepley. "If your hair wasn't gray, I'd take you out on the sidewalk and smash your face in! Please understand that!" "Threaten me, will you?" "I'm not threatening you. I don't fight a man with one foot in the grave." "Why you----" "And I don't care to have you address me in public again, either," Sidney Prale went on. "It probably would be an insult." "Confound you, sir!" Shepley cried. He reached forward and grasped Prale by the arm. Sidney Prale put up a hand, tore the grasp loose, and tossed Rufus Shepley to one side. "Keep your paws off me!" he exclaimed. "I think that you're insane, if you ask me!" The hotel detective came hurrying up. "You'll have to cut that out!" he said. "What's the row here, anyway?" "The place is harboring a maniac!" Prale said. "It's harboring a crook!" Shepley cried. Prale lurched forward and grasped him by both arms, and shook him until Rufus Shepley's teeth chattered. "Another word out of you, and I'll forget that your hair is gray!" Prale exclaimed, and then he tossed Shepley to one side again. "Either of you guests here?" the house detective demanded. "No? Then maybe you'd both better get out until you can cool off. If you want to stage a scrap, go down and rent Madison Square Garden and advertise in the newspapers. I wouldn't mind seeing a good fight myself. But this lobby isn't any prize ring. Get me?" Sidney Prale, his face still flaming, whirled around and started for the entrance, the crowd parting to let him through. Rufus Shepley, fuming and fussing, followed him slowly. The house detective accompanied him to the door. Prale was waiting at the curb, a Prale whose face was white now because of the temper he was fighting to control. He stepped close to Shepley's side. "I don't know why you insulted me, but don't do it again!" Prale said. "I ought to settle with you for what you've said already." The house detective, who had heard, stepped forward again, but Sidney Prale swung across the street and went on his way. He walked rapidly for a dozen blocks or more, paying no attention to where he was going, until his anger began to subside. "Why, the raving maniac!" he gasped, once or twice. He didn't pretend to guess what it meant. Shepley had seemed to be friendly enough when they had separated aboard ship. What could have happened to make the man change his mind and attitude? "Must be some mistake!" Prale told himself. "If there is any more of this, I'll have to get to the bottom of it!" He reached Madison Square, and sat down on a bench to smoke and regain his composure. He knew that he had a terrible temper, and that it had to be controlled. A temper that flashed was all right at times in the jungles of Honduras, but it was not the proper thing to exhibit in the heart of New York City. It might get him into serious trouble with somebody.