The girl's exasperation was even greater than Beasley had hoped for. He read, too, the shame and hurt underlying it, and his satisfaction was intense. He felt that he was paying her off for some of the obvious dislike she had always shown him, and it pleased him as it always pleased him when his mischief went home. But now, having achieved his end, he promptly set about wriggling clear of consequences, which was ever his method.
"I'd like to give you the names," he said frankly. "But I can't. You see, when fellers are drunk they say things they don't mean, an' it wouldn't be fair to give them away. I jest told you so you'd be on your guard--just to tell you the folks are riled. But it ain't as bad as it seems. I shut 'em up quick, feeling that no decent citizen could stand an' hear a pretty gal slandered like that. An' I'll tell you this, Miss Golden, you owe me something for the way I made 'em quit. Still," he added, with a leer, "I don't need payment. You see, I was just playin' the game."
Joan was still furious. And somehow his wriggling did not ring true even in her simple ears.
"Then you won't tell me who it was?" she cried.
Beasley shook his head.
"Nuthin' doin'," he said facetiously.
"Then you--you are a despicable coward," she cried. "You--oh!" And she almost fled out of the hated creature's storeroom.
Beasley looked after her. The satisfaction had gone from his eyes, leaving them wholly vindictive.
"Coward, am I, ma'm!" he muttered. Then he looked at the order for furniture which was still in his hand.
The sight of it made him laugh.