“Haven't you had enough, you little mucker? You threaten me or Miss Adair again and I'll not leave enough of you to--to--” He was not apt at phrases, but Connery felt metaphors enough in the size of the fist before his nose. He put up his hands, palms forward, in the ancient gesture of surrender. Then Gilfoyle turned cry-baby and began to sob. “You call her Miss Adair! But she's my wife. Mrs. Gilfoyle is what she is, and you've taken her away from me. This is a rotten country, and you rotten millionaires can do nearly anything you want to--but not quite. You'll find that out. There are still a few courts and a few newspapers you can't muzzle.” Dyckman advanced against him, but Gilfoyle merely clung to the back of his chair, and his non-resistance was his best shelter. It was impossible for Dyckman to strike him. Secure in his helplessness, he took full advantage of the tyranny of impotence. He rose to his feet and went on with his lachrymose philippic. “You're going to pay for what you've done, and pay high!” The one thing that restrained Dyckman from offering to buy him out was that he demanded purchase. Like most rich people, Dyckman was the everlasting target of prayers and threats. He could be generous to an appeal, but a demand locked his heart. He answered Gilfoyle's menace, bluntly, “I'll pay you when hell freezes over, and not a cent before.” “Well, then, you stand from under,” Gilfoyle squealed. “There's a law in this State against home-wreckers like you, and I can send you to the penitentiary for breaking it.” Dyckman's rage blackened again; he caught Gilfoyle by the shoulder and roared: “You foul-mouthed, filthy-minded little sneak! You say a word against your wife and I'll throw you out of the window. She's too decent for you to understand. You get down on your knees and ask her pardon.” He forced Gilfoyle to his knees, but he could not make him pray. And Kedzie fell back from him. She was afraid to pose as a saint worthy of genuflection. Connery re-entered the conflict with a sneer: “Aw, tell it to the judge, Dyckman! Tell it to the judge! See how good it listens to him. We'll tell him how we found you here; and you tell him you were holding a prayer-meeting. You didn't want to be disturbed, so you didn't have even a servant around--all alone together at this hour.” Then a new, strange voice spoke in. “Who said they were alone?” The four turned to see Mrs. Thropp filling the hall doorway, and Adna's head back of her shoulder. It was really a little too melodramatic. The village lassie goes to the great city; her father and mother arrive in all their bucolic innocence just in time to save her from destruction. Connery, whose climax she had spoiled, though she had probably saved his bones, gasped, “Who the hell are you?” “I'm this child's mother; that's who I am. And that's her father. And what's more, we've been here all evening, and you'd better look out how you swear at me or I'll sick Mr. Dyckman on you.”