“Oh, thanks. I don't need your credentials, Trent,” said Bulling cynically.
But Trent, ignoring him, devoted himself to Barney, who showed signs of reviving. It was some minutes, however, before he could sit up. Meanwhile Bulling with his friends retired to the lavatory.
“Here, Boyle,” said Treat, holding a glass to his lips as Barney sat up, “a little more brandy and water.”
For a few moments after he drank the liquor Barney sat gazing stupidly about. Then, as full consciousness returned, cried out, “Where is he? He's not gone?” He seized the glass of brandy and water from Dr. Treat's hands and drank it off. “Get me another,” he said. “Is he gone?” he repeated, making an effort to rise.
“Wait till another day, Barney,” entreated Dick. “Never mind to-night.”
At this moment the sound of Dr. Bulling's voice, followed by loud laughter, came from the lavatory. At once Barney stood up, walked to the table, poured out a glass of brandy and drank it raw. For a minute he stood stretching his arms.
“Ah, that's better,” he said, and started toward the lavatory, but Dick clung to him.
“Barney, listen to me,” he entreated, his voice coming in broken sobs. “He'll kill you. Let me take your place.”
“Dick, keep out of it,” said Barney. “Don't worry. He'll hurt me no more, but he'll say it before I'm done.” And, throwing off the restraining hands, he made his way into the lavatory. Dr. Bulling was arranging his collar before a glass. As Barney entered he turned around.
“I'm sorry, Boyle,” he began, “but you brought it on yourself, you know.”
“Look here,” cried Bulling, “haven't you got enough. Be thankful you're not killed. Go on! Get home! I don't run a butcher shop!”
“Will you say you're a liar and a cowardly liar?”
Barney's voice had in it the ring of cold steel.
“I say, boys,” said Bulling, appealing to the crowd, “keep this fool off. I don't want to kill him.”
Foxmore, with some of the others, approached Barney.
“Now, Boyle, quit it,” said Foxmore. “There's no use, you see.” He laid his hand on Barney's arm.
Barney put his hand against his breast, appearing to brush him aside, but Foxmore touched nothing till he struck the wall ten feet away.
“Get back!” cried Barney, springing away from the men approaching him. As he spoke, he seized a small oak dressing table by one of its legs, swung it round his head, dashed it to pieces on the marble floor, and, putting his foot upon the wreckage, with one mighty wrench had the leg free in his hand.