"
"I think you are lying."
"All right. But I can produce the goods."
Willy Cameron went very pale. His hands were clenched again, and
Akers eyed him warily.
"None of that," he cautioned. "I don't know what interest you've
got in this, and I don't give a God-damn. But you'd better not
try any funny business with me."
Willy Cameron smiled. Much the sort of smile he had worn during
the rioting.
"I don't like to soil my hands on you," he said, "but I don't mind
telling you that any man who ruins a girl's life and then tries to
get out of it by defaming her, is a skunk."
Akers lunged at him.
Some time later Mr. William Wallace Cameron descended to the street.
He wore his coat collar turned up to conceal the absence of certain
articles of wearing apparel which he had mysteriously lost. And
he wore, too, a somewhat distorted, grim and entirely complacent
smile.
CHAPTER XXV
The city had taken the rioting with a weary philosophy. It was
tired of fighting. For two years it had labored at high tension for
the European war. It had paid taxes and bought bonds, for the war.
It had saved and skimped and denied itself, for the war.
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