I guess
it's up to us to hold things steady, as experts. Soothe 'em and smooth
'em! It was All-Wool Morrison's lesson to me to-day! Soft and careful with
'em, seeing that they're full of what's in the air this night, and don't
know just what ails 'em!"
He lowered his gaze from the skies. A man was passing on his way toward
the door of the hall.
Lanigan had just laid down a general rule of diplomatic conduct for the
evening, but he made a prompt exception. He leaped on the man, struggled
with him for a moment, and yanked off a red necktie, taking with it the
man's collar and a part of his shirt, "But some stuff that they're full of
can't be smoothed out--it's got to be whaled out!" panted Lanigan. He did
not release his captive. "The nerve o' ye, parading your red wattles on a
night like this, ye Tom Gobbler of a Bullshevist!"
"I have the right to pick the color of my own necktie!" snarled the man.
"Not for the reason why you picked it! Not to wear it up into that hall,
my bucko boy!"
When the man expostulated with oaths, Lanigan tripped him and held him on
the sidewalk. "Hush your yawp! You can't fool me about your taste in ties!
I know what's behind that color like I'd know what's behind an Orangeman's
yellow! I don't need to wait for him to hooray for the battle o' the Boyne
ere I get my brick ready! Peter, frisk his pockets!"
Demeter obeyed.
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