have it?" asked the other, in a slightly
raised, ominous voice.

"Just as soon as I can possibly get it," replied Andrew, softly and
piteously. Ellen's chamber was directly overhead. He thought of the
possibility of her overhearing.

"Look at here, Andrew Brewster," said the other man, and this time
with brutal, pitiless force. When it came to the prospect of losing
money he became as merciless as a machine. Something diabolical in
remorselessness seemed to come to the surface, and reveal wheels of
grinding for his fellow-men. "Look at here," he said, "I want to
know right out, and no dodging. Have you got the money to pay
me--yes or no?"

"No," said Andrew then, with a manliness born of desperation.
He had the feeling of one who will die fighting. He wished that
Evarts would speak lower on account of Ellen, but he was prepared
to face even that. The man's speech came with the gliddering
rush of an electric car; it was a concentration of words into
one intensity of meaning; he elided everything possible, he
ran all his words together. He spoke something in this wise:
"GoddamnyouAndrewBrewster, for comin'to borrow money to buy
your girl a watch when you had nothin' to pay for't with,
whatbusinesshadyourgirlwithawatchanyhow,I'dliket'know? My
girl'ain'tgotno watch. I'veputmymoneyinthebank. It'srobbery.
I'llhavethelawonye. I'llsueyou. I'll--"

At that moment something happened. The man, William Evarts, who was
talking with a vociferousness which seemed cutting and lacerating to
the ear, who was brandishing an arm for emphasis in a circle of
frenzy, fairly jumped to one side. The girl, Ellen Brewster, in a
light wrapper, which she had thrown over her night-gown, came with
such a speed down the stairs which led to the entry directly before
the door, that she seemed to be flying. White ruffles eddied around
her little feet, her golden hair was floating out like a flag. She
came close to William Evarts. "Will you please not speak so loud,"
said she, in a voice which her father had never heard from her lips
before. It was a voice of pure command, and of command which carried
with it the consciousness of power to enforce. She stood before
William Evarts, and her fine smallness seemed intensified by her
spirit to magnificence. The man shrank back a little, he had the
impression as of some one overtowering him, and yet the girl came
scarcely to his shoulder. "Please do not speak so loud, you will
wake Amabel," she said, and