Smilk, furiously: "Hey, you go back there and bust into her room.
Hear what I say? Better take a club or a gun or something--"

Plaza 00100; "Go to thunder!"

Smilk, flinching as he jerked the receiver away from his ear: "Lord!
I bet he put that telephone out of whack!"

He sagged a little as he slowly hung up the receiver. For a moment
he stared desolately at Mr. Yollop and then recovering himself
gradually rushed with ever increasing velocity into the most violent
hurricane of profanity that ever was centered upon the frailty of
woman. Running out of expletives he at last subsided into an ominous
calm.

"For two cents," groaned he, "I'd blow my head off." He gazed
hungrily at the revolver.

"I never dreamed there were so many cuss-words in the world," gasped
Mr. Yollop, blinking.

"There ain't half enough," announced Mr. Smilk, in a far away voice.

"Put that pistol down!" roared Mr. Yollop. "What are you going to
do? Shoot yourself?"

"It would save an awful lot of trouble," said Mr. Smilk.

"The deuce it would! My servants would be a week cleaning up after
you, and you'd probably ruin this Meshed rug. Besides, confound you,