But
the moment it fell to behind him, he stood and shook so that the
club fairly rattled on the floor. Outside the gang were hugging
their sides in expectation of what was coming.
"Well, Jones," I said, "what is it?"
He mumbled something so tremulously and incoherently that I felt
really sorry for him. Jones was not a bad fellow, though he was
in bad company just then. I told him so, and that it would be best
for him to go out quietly, or he might hurt himself. He seemed
to be relieved at the suggestion, and when I went from behind the
counter and led him toward the door, he went willingly enough. But
as I put my hand on the latch he remembered his errand, and, with
a sudden plucking up of courage at the thought of the waiting gang,
he raised the stick to strike at me.
Honestly, I didn't touch the man with a finger. I suppose he
stumbled over the sill, as I had sometimes done in my sober senses.
Whatever the cause, he fell against the window, and out with him
it went, the whole of the glass front, with a crash that resounded
from one end of the avenue to the other, and brought neighbors and
policemen, among them my friend the captain, on a run to the store.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171