"Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "You--you----"

But he ain't got any such vocabulary as old Hickory Ellins has; so
here, when he needs it most, all he can do is express his deep disgust
by shakin' this Bunny party like a new hired girl dustin' a rug. He
jerks him this way and that so reckless that I was afraid he'd rattle
him apart, and when he fin'lly lets loose Bunny goes all in a heap on
the sidewalk. I'd never seen Mr. Robert get real wrathy before; but
it's all over in a minute, and he glances around like he was ashamed.

"Hang it all!" says he, gazin' at the wreck. "I didn't mean to lay my
hands on him."

"He's in punk condition," says I. "What's to be done, call an
ambulance?"

That jars Mr. Robert a lot. I expect he was so worked up he didn't
know how rough he was handlin' him, and my suggestin' that he's
qualified Bunny for a cot sobers him down in a minute. Next thing I
knows he's kneelin' over the Blashford gent and liftin' his head up.

"Here, what's the matter with you?" says Mr. Robert.

"Don't! Don't strike me again," moans Bunny, cringin'.

"No, no, I'm not going to," says Mr. Robert. "And I apologize for
shaking you. But what ails you?"

"I--I'm all in," says Bunny, beginnin' to sniffle. "Don't--don't beat
me! I--I'm going to die; but--but not here, like--like this. I--I