"I don't wonder you're a little upset, old man," he said, humoringly
patting him; "but sit down for a bite of something, and you'll see things
differently."
"I've had my breakfast," he said, taking out a cigarette.
Then Mr. Trevor got up.
"He demands, sir, to be delivered over to the authorities," said he, "and
you have no right to refuse him. I protest strongly."
"And you can protest all you damn please," retorted my client; "this
isn't the Ohio State Senate. Do you know where I would put you, Mr.
Trevor? Do you know where you ought to be? In a hencoop, sir, if I had
one here. In a hen-coop. What would you do if a man who had gone a
little out of his mind asked you for a gun to shoot himself with? Give
it him, I suppose. But I put Mr. Allen ashore in Canada, with the funds
to get off with, and then my duty's done."
This speech, as Mr. Cooke had no doubt confidently hoped, threw the
senator into a frenzy of wrath.
"The day will come, sir," he shouted, shaking his fist at my client, "the
day will come when you will rue this bitterly."
"Don't get off any of your oratorical frills on me," replied Mr. Cooke,
contemptuously; "you ought to be tied and muzzled."
Mr. Trevor was white with anger.
"I, for one, will not go to Canada," he cried.
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