This was an
ominous sign had Mr. Price but known it. He did not know it and cackled
merrily on,

"Guess I'll have to tell Helen when she comes back home," he announced.
"Cal'late I'll put a flea in her ear. 'Helen,' I'll say, 'don't feel
too bad now, don't cry and get your handkerchief all soakin', or nothin'
like that. I just feel it's my duty to tell ye that your little Albert
is sparkin' up to somebody else. He's waitin' on a party by the name of
Padeline--no, Madeline--Woodtick--no, Fosdick--and . . .' Here! let go
of me! What are you doin'?"

That last question was in the nature of a gurgle. Albert, his face now
very white indeed, had strode across the office, seized the speaker by
the front of his flannel shirt and backed him against the wall.

"Stop," commanded Albert, between his teeth. "That's enough of that.
Don't you say any more!"

"Eh? Ugh! Ur-gg! Leggo of my shirt."

Albert let go, but he did not step back. He remained where he was,
exactly in front of Mr. Price.

"Don't you say any more about--about what you were saying," he repeated.

"Eh? Not say any more? Why not? Who's goin' to stop me, I'd like to
know?"

"I am."

"I want to know! What'll you do?"

"I don't know. If you weren't so old, I would--but I'll stop you,
anyhow."

Albert felt a hand on his arm and heard Mr. Keeler's voice at his ear.

"Careful, Al, careful," it said. "Don't hit him."

"Of course I shan't hit him," indignantly. "What do you think I am? But
he must promise not to mention--er--Miss Fosdick's name again."

"Better promise, Is," suggested Laban. Issachar's mouth opened, but no
promise came forth.

"Promise be darned!" he yelled furiously. "Mention her name! I'll
mention any name I set out to, and no Italyun Portygee is goin' to stop
me, neither."

Albert glanced about the office. By the wall stood two brimming pails of
water, brought in by Mr. Price for floor-washing purposes. He lifted one
of the pails.

"If you don't promise I'll duck you," he declared. "Let go of me,
Keeler, I mean it."

"Careful, Al, careful," said Mr. Keeler. "Better promise, Is."

"Promise nawthin'! Fosdick! What in time do I care for Fosdicks,
Madelines or Padelines or Dandelions or--"

His sentence stopped just there. The remainder of it was washed back
and down his throat by the deluge from the bucket. Overcome by shock and
surprise, Mr. Price leaned back against the wall and slid slowly down
that wall until he reclined in a