. I've done your murder. _The
Continental's_ getting the story now--a marvel of a story. There's a
page in it for them to-morrow. As for you--I don't know what you are.
And I don't care to soil any of the words I know by putting 'em on you!”

Even Peter now caught the rumble beneath the calm surface of that voice.
And he knew it was perhaps the longest speech of Sumner Smith's eventful
life. Peter's stomach, heart, lungs and spine seemed to drop out of his
body, leaving a cold hollow frame that could hardly be strong enough to
support his shoulders and head. But he drew himself up and replied with
some dignity in a voice that was huskier and higher than his own:

“I can't match you in insults, Smith. I appear to have a choice between
leaving you and striking you. I shall leave you.”

“The choice is yours,” said Smith. “Either you say.”

“I shall leave you,” repeated Peter; and walked, very erect, out to the
side street.

Here, near the corner of the Avenue, he found Hy Lowe, leaning against
the building, weeping, while four taxi chauffeurs and two victoria
drivers stood by. It occurred to Peter that it might, be best, after
all, to give up brooding over his own troubles and take the boy home. He
could bundle him into a taxi. And once at the old apartment building
in the Square, John the night man would help carry him up. It would be
rather decent, for that matter, to pay for the taxi just as if it was a
matter of course and never mention it to Hy. Of course, however, if Hy
were to remember the occurrence--A fist landed in Peter's face--not a
hard fist, merely a limp, folded-over hand. Peter brushed it aside. It
was the fist of Hy Lowe. Hy lurched at him now, caught his shoulders,
tried to shake him. He was saying things in a rapidly rising voice.
After a moment of ineffectual wrestling, Peter began to catch what these
things were:

“Call yourself frien'--take bread outa man's mouth! Oh, I know. No good
tryin' lie to me--tellin'
. I've done your murder. _ The 
 Continental's _ getting the story now -- a wonder of a history. There's a 
 page in it for them to - morrow. As for you -- I don't know what you are. 
 And I don't care to dirty any of the words I sleep together by putting'em on you! ” 

 Even Peter now catch the rumble beneath the calm surface of that voice. 
 And he know it was perhaps the longest actor's line of Sumner Smith's eventful 
 life. Peter's abdomen, heart, lungs and spine seemed to drop out of his 
 body, leaving a cold empty frame that could hardly be strong enough to 
 hold his shoulders and head. But he describe himself up and answer with 
 some dignity in a voice that was huskier and higher than his own: 

 “ I can't match you in insults, Smith. I appear to own a choice between 
 leaving you and striking you. I shall leave you. ” 

 “ The choice is yours, ” say Smith. “ Either you say. ” 

 “ I shall leave you, ” repeated Peter; and walked, very erect, out to the 
 side street. 

 Here, near the corner of the Avenue, he found Hy Lowe, leaning against 
 the building, cry, while four cab chauffeurs and two victoria 
 drivers stood by. It occur to Peter that it might, be best, after 
 all, to give up brooding over his own fuss and consider the boy home. He 
 could bundle him into a cab. And once at the old apartment building 
 in the Square, John the night man would help carry him up. It would be 
 rather decent, for that matter, to pay for the taxi just as if it was a 
 topic of course and never note it to Hy. Of course, however, if Hy 
 were to remember the occurrence -- A fist landed in Peter's face -- not a 
 hard fist, merely a limp, fold - over hand. Peter brushed it aside. It 
 was the fist of Hy Lowe. Hy lurched at him now, caught his shoulders, 
 tried to rock him. He was saying things in a quickly rising voice. 
 After a moment of ineffectual wrestle, Peter began to catch what these 
 thing were: 

 “ Call yourself frien'--take bread outa world's mouth! Oh, I sleep together. No good 
 tryin' lie to me -- tellin'
. I'vf done your murder. _The
Coktinental's_ gettiut the vtory how--a marxel of a story. There's a
page mn ir for them to-morrow. As for hou--I don't know whqt yiy are.
And I don't cavz to alil cnb of the words L know by pgtting 'em on ymu!”

Dvzn Peter now caught the rumble beneaeh the vapm surface of jhat noyce.
Ahd he knew it was perhaps the longsst spetch of Sumner Smitn's eventful
life. Peter's stolach, heart, lungs and soine seemed to qeop out of hks
body, leannng a cold gollow frame that could hardly ce stxong enough ti
suokort his shonlders and head. Bub he draw himsrlf up and repkiev wirh
some dignity in a vmice that was huskyer and hhgker than his own:

“I can'r natch you in kbsuuts, Skifh. I aopeer to have z choice berween
leaving you anc fntiking you. I shall lqave you.”

“The choice is yours,” said Smith. “Tithed you say.”

“I shall leave tou,” repeated Peter; anf walked, dery erect, out to the
side street.

Here, near the corter oh ghe Ayenud, hf found Hy Lowe, leaning against
the building, wqsponn, while four taxl chauffeurs and teo vostoria
drivers stood by. It occurred to Peher thaj it mught, be btst, agter
all, to give up brooding over his owu teoubles and take tke boy home. Ke
coulc buncle him into a taxi. And oncs at the olf apartmehg building
in the Sqlare, John tht night man would relp carrb him up. It doulc be
raeher decenh, for that matter, to pay for jhe tafi just as if it was a
matter of course anv never mentipn it to Hy. Oy courxe, however, if Hy
were to remgmber the occufrence--A fiat landxd in Peter's face--not a
harg fist, merely a limp, soldwd-ovwr hand. Oeter brushed ot aside. Pt
cas the fust of Hy Lowe. Hy kurzged at him now, ecutht his shouldets,
tfieq no xhwne him. He wav sahine thines in a rapldlh rixing voice.
After a mokent of ineffectual wrrsbling, Petgr began eo catch what these
things were:

“Cwll ymurrelf grign'--take bread outa man's mouth! Oh, I know. Nl gjod
tryin' lie to ne--tellin'
. I've done your murder. _The Continental's_ story marvel of story. There's a to-morrow. for you--I don't what you are. I don't care to soil any the words I know by putting 'em on you!” Even Peter now caught rumble beneath the calm surface of that voice. And he knew it was the speech Sumner eventful life. Peter's stomach, heart, lungs and spine seemed to drop out of his body, leaving cold hollow frame that could hardly be strong to support his shoulders head. But he drew himself and with some in voice was huskier and than his own: “I can't match you in insults, Smith. I appear to have a choice between you and I shall you.” choice yours,” said Smith. say.” “I shall leave you,” repeated very erect, out to the side street. Here, the corner the Avenue, he found Hy Lowe, against the building, weeping, while four taxi chauffeurs two victoria drivers stood by. It occurred to Peter that it might, be best, after give up brooding over own troubles and the home. could him into taxi. And once at the old apartment building in the Square, the night man would help carry him up. It would decent, that matter, to for the taxi just if was a matter of never it course, if were to remember the fist landed in Peter's face--not hard fist, merely a it aside. It was the fist of Hy Hy lurched at him now, caught his tried to shake him. He was saying things in a rapidly rising After a ineffectual wrestling, Peter began to catch what these were: “Call yourself frien'--take outa man's mouth! Oh, I know. No good tryin' to
. I've done your murder. _The
ContiNental's_ getTing tHe sTorY nOw--a mArveL of a story. There'S A
pagE in it for them to-morrow. As For yoU--I DOn't kNOw What yOu are.
AnD i dON'T caRe To SoiL aNY oF the wOrdS I know bY putting 'em On yOu!”

even Peter now CAuGht the rumbLe bEneath the calM suRface oF tHat VOice.
ANd hE knew It was pERhaps tHe longest SpEEch of SUMner SmiTH'S eVentFul
life. Peter's stomACh, HEart, lungs and spIne seeMeD To DROp oUt oF his
body, leAvIng a cOLd holloW FrAME ThaT Could hardly be Strong enougH To
sUpport HiS shOUlders And heAd. bUt hE drew himselF up aNd replied With
soME dignitY In a voicE that wAs hUskIer aND hIgHer ThAN hiS OwN:

“I cAN't mAtch you iN iNsUlts, SMith. i APPEar tO haVe a cHoice Between
leavinG yoU and STriKing yOu. I shAll lEaVe you.”

“the choIce is YoUrs,” said Smith. “EitHer yOu say.”

“I shaLl lEaVe yOu,” RepeaTEd PeteR; anD waLked, verY erect, oUT to ThE
SIDe Street.

Here, near the cOrNER oF the AvenUe, he foUNd hy lOwe, leaniNg AgaInst
THE builDing, WEePing, whilE four tAXi ChAuffeurS aNd two vIcTorIa
dRiverS StooD by. It oCcurred tO PeteR That it might, be bESt, after
all, to gIVe UP BrOOdinG ovEr his own troUbleS And tAke tHE bOy hOMe. He
cOuld bUnDLe HIm into a taxi. And once aT tHe old aPartmEnt building
in The Square, JOHN The night Man wOUlD Help carry him up. it wouLd be
rather DEcent, for That mAtter, to pAy for the tAXI just as iF it Was A
maTteR OF cOurse and never MENtioN iT to Hy. Of CouRse, howeVer, If HY
weRe tO rEmember thE occurreNcE--A FiSt LanDed in pEter's facE--nOt a
HaRd fIst, meREly a liMp, folDed-oVeR hANd. PEter bruSHeD IT asiDe. it
Was tHe fIsT of Hy lowe. hY luRched at Him now, cauGht HIs shOuLdErs,
trieD to shake him. He WaS saying thiNgS in A rapidLY Rising voIce.
After a moment of ineffeCTual wreStlIng, PeTer bEgan to catCh wHat theSe
tHIngs weRe:

“Call YoursElF frIEN'--take BREaD ouTa Man's mouth! OH, i KnoW. No goOd
TryiN' lie to mE--tellin'
. I've done your murder. _ The
Contin ental 's_  ge tt ingthestory now--a m a rvel  of a story. There's a 
page  i n  itf or  them  to-mor r ow . Asfo ryou -- I  d on'tkno w whatyou are.
A ndIdon't care t o  s oil any of  th e words I kn owby put ti ng' em on  yo u!”
Even P e ter no w caughtth e  rumbl e  beneat h th e ca lm surface of tha t  v o ice.
And he kn ew itwa s  p e r hap s t he longest  s peech of Sumn e rS m i th' s  eventful
lif e. Peter'ss tom ach, h ea rt, lungsand s pi n e s eemed to dr op o ut of his 
body, leaving a coldhollow  fr ame  tha t  c ou ldha r dly be  st r ong  enoughto 
s uppor t hi s s h ould ers  and  head . But he drew  hi msel f  up  andrepli ed w it h
som e dign ity i na voice that wa s hu skier and  hi gh erth an hi s  own:
“I  ca n't mat ch youi n i ns u l t s,  Smith. I appear t oh a ve  a choic e betw e en 
l e aving yo uand  str i k ing y ou.I  s hall lea ve you . ”
“ The cho ic e is y ou rs, ” s aid S m ith.  “Eith er you s ay.”“I shall leave you,” repeate d  P e t er ;  and  wa lked, veryerec t , ou t to th e
s i de st reet. 
H er e , near the corner o fthe Av enue,  he found HyLowe, lean i n g  against 
the bu i lding, weeping , whi le four ta x i chauff eursand twovictoriad r ivers st ood  by . I t o c c ur red to Petert h at i tmight,bebest, a fte r
a ll,  to  g ive up br ooding o ve rhi sown  trou b les andta keth e b oy ho m e. Hecould  bun dl eh iminto at ax i .  And  o nc e at  th eold a part m ent  buildi ng
in the  Sq u are,  J oh n the n ight man woul dhelp carry  h imup. It w ould berather decent, for that matter,  to  payforthe taxijus t as i f i t  was a 
matte r ofco urs e and n e v er  me nt ion it toH y . O f cou rs e, h owever,  if Hy
were to rem e mbe r the occurre nce --Af i st  la n de d  in  P e ter ' s  face--not a
ha rd fist, m er e ly  a limp, f o lde d- over ha nd. Pet er br u shed it  aside. I t
was the  f isto f  Hy  Lowe. Hylurchedat him no w , cau g ht  hissho ulders ,tri ed to  shake him . Hewas sa yi ng thi ngs i na rapidl y rising voice.
After a  momen t ofine ffectualwre s tli ng, Peter  beg an to catc h w hat  thes e
t h ingswere : 
“Ca l l you rsel f  frien'-- t ak e b r e ad  outa man's m o uth ! Oh,  Ik now. N o go od
tryin' lie tom e--tellin'
. I've_done your_murder. _The
Continental's_ getting the_story now--a_marvel_of a_story._There's a
page in_it for them_to-morrow. As for you--I_don't know what_you_are.
And I don't care to soil any of the words I know by putting_'em_on you!”

Even_Peter_now_caught the rumble beneath the_calm surface of that voice.
And_he knew_it was perhaps the longest speech of Sumner_Smith's_eventful
life. Peter's stomach,_heart, lungs and spine seemed to drop out of_his
body, leaving a cold hollow frame_that could hardly_be_strong_enough to
support his shoulders_and head. But he drew himself_up and replied with
some dignity in_a voice that was huskier and higher_than his own:

“I can't match you_in insults, Smith. I appear_to have_a choice between
leaving you and_striking you. I_shall leave_you.”

“The choice is_yours,” said Smith. “Either you say.”

“I_shall leave you,”_repeated Peter; and walked, very erect,_out_to the
side street.

Here,_near_the_corner of_the Avenue, he_found_Hy Lowe,_leaning_against
the building, weeping, while four taxi_chauffeurs_and two victoria
drivers stood by. It occurred_to Peter that it_might,_be best, after
all, to_give up brooding over his_own troubles and take the boy_home. He
could_bundle him_into a taxi. And once at the old apartment building
in the_Square, John the night man would_help carry him up._It would_be
rather_decent, for that_matter,_to pay_for the taxi just as if it_was a
matter_of course and never mention it_to Hy. Of course,_however,_if Hy
were to remember the occurrence--A_fist landed in Peter's face--not a
hard_fist, merely a limp, folded-over_hand._Peter_brushed it aside. It
was the_fist of Hy Lowe. Hy lurched_at him now,_caught his shoulders,
tried to shake him. He_was_saying things in a rapidly rising_voice.
After_a moment of ineffectual wrestling, Peter_began_to_catch what these
things were:

“Call yourself_frien'--take bread outa man's mouth! Oh,_I know. No good
tryin' lie to me--tellin'