Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/21

Rh and I was as drunk as a reservation buck in the last steps of a sun-dance. "And you don't know what decency is, or you'd never have cheapened your name and your work the way you've cheapened it right here in this office. And I repeat that I've never objected to working for the law. But I do object to working for a yellow cur. And as I consider you one, I'm going to walk out of this office and this position before you can make a bluff at saving that broken-winded dignity of yours by discharging me!"

My hands were shaking and something had undoubtedly gone wrong with my knee-joints, but I managed to pull on my gloves and cross to the door as my last machine-gun of rage emptied itself against his aldermanic vest-front. And before Big Ben Locke could get his breath or sink back in his swivel chair I stepped through that door and slammed it after me, slammed it so hard that the glass rattled in the frame and little Dugmore, in the outer office, stared at me with eyes as round as saucers.

I didn't even wait to take the elevator. I walked down. And when I landed on Broadway I felt as though I'd fallen from a Turkish-bath steam-room. I scarcely knew which way I headed. But I kept