There was a wicked look in Arthur’s black eyes, which he fastened upon Peterkin, as he said;

‘What does it all mean, sir?  Will you please explain?’

‘Yes, in double quick time,’ replied Peterkin, a little nettled by Arthur’s manner, which he could not understand.  ’You see, me and Mary Jane was early to the doin’s; fust ones, in fact, for when your invite says half past seven it means it, I take it.  Wall, we was here on time, and Mary Jane has been on a tear ever since, and says Miss St. Claire nor none of the big bugs didn’t come till nine, which I take is imperlite, don’t you?’

’Never mind, we are not discussing etiquette.  Go on with the pin and the boy,’ Arthur said haughtily.

‘Mary Jane,’ Peterkin continued, ’had a gold-headed shawl pin, with a small diamond in the head—­real, too, for I don’t b’lieve in shams, and haint sense the day I quit boatin’ and hauled ther ’Liza Ann up inter my back yard.  Well, she left this pin stickin’ in her shawl, and no one up there but this boy of that Crawford gal’s, and nobody knows who else.’

Something in Arthur’s face and manner made Frank think of a tiger about to pounce upon its prey, and he felt himself growing cold with suspense and dread as he watched his brother, while Peterkin continued: 

’When Mary Jane came to go home, her things wa’n’t there, and the pin was missin’; and Lucy, the girl, said she found the boy pullin’ them over by himself, when he had no call to be in there; and, sir, there ain’t a lawyer in the United States that would refuse a writ on that evidence, and I’ll get one of St. Claire afore to-morrow night.  I told ’em so, the widder and the boy, who was as brassy as you please, and faced me down and said he never seen the pin, nor knowed there was one; while she—­wall, I swow, if she didn’t start round lively for a woman with her leg bandaged up in vinegar and flannel.  When I called the brat a thief and said I’d have him arrested, she made for the door and ordered me out—­me, Joe Peterkin, of the ’Liza Ann!  I’ll make her smart, though, wus than the rheumatiz.  I’ll make her feel the heft—­’

He did not have time to finish the sentence, for the tiger in Arthur was fully roused, and with a bound toward Peterkin he opened the door, and, in a voice which seemed to fill the room, although it was only a whisper, he said: 

’Clown! loafer! puff-ball!  Leave my house instantly, and never enter it again until you have apologized to Mrs. Crawford and her grandson for the insult offered them by your vile accusations.  If it were not for soiling my hands, I would throw you down the steps,’ he continued, as he stood holding the door open, and looking with his flashing eyes and dilated nostrils, as if he were fully equal to anything.