"What did I say to you yesterday?" Fyfe opened his mouth at last. "Butthen I might have known I was wasting my breath on you!"

"Well," Monohan retorted insolently, "what are you going to do about it?This isn't the Stone Age."

Fyfe laughed unpleasantly.

"Lucky for you. You'd have been eliminated long ago," he exclaimed. "No, ittakes the present age to produce such rotten specimens as you."

A very deep flush rose in Monohan's cheeks. He took a step toward Fyfe, hisarms clenched.

"You wouldn't say that if you weren't armed," he taunted hoarsely.

"No?" Fyfe cast the rifle to one side. It fell with a metallic clinkagainst a stone. "I do say it though, you see. You are a sort of ayellow dog, Monohan. You know it, and you know that I know it. That'swhy it stings you to be told so."

Monohan stepped back and slipped out of his coat. His face was crimson.