CHAPTER XXVIII
Something to Go On
Gregory, nearly exasperated by the other's coolness,
made a threatening gesture. And then came the
sudden blazing out of ferocious rage that smolders always
under the quietest Oriental seeming, and that, enkindled
instantly by the tiniest spark, transforms a
peaceful, obliging native into a spitting, hissing human
volcano.
"You fool! You white-eyed dodderer, you green-hatted goat-man!" Wu Li Chang barked, "do you think I care for your shiny barrel? You English idiot! The slightest signal from me"—he pointed to the window—"and those coolies would swarm in here like so many devils."
"Yes, but you'd have gone to blazes first," Gregory said grimly, the revolver still well aimed, "to join those damned ancestors of yours."
Something as terrible as the death-rattle in a mad dog's throat tangled and gurgled in Wu's and a fiendish look leapt into his eyes—they narrowed until they were mere slits. But he recontrolled himself almost instantly—angry still, but coldly so, and imperturbable again. "I would have gone to blazes first?" There were snarl and sneer in the low-pitched voice. "Then we should have been able to resume this interesting conversation elsewhere! Come, come! Put your toy back into your pocket. If you insist upon playing the play out on these lines (but I think you will not), believe me, this is not
