“Maybe you’d better get some one else to take my part right now.”

Maggie’s tone and look were implacable.  Barney moved uneasily.  That was the worst about Maggie:  she wouldn’t take advice from any one unless the advice were a coincidence with or an enlargement of her own wishes, and she was particularly temperish to-night.  He hastened to appease her.

“I guess the best of us have our off days.  It’s all right unless”—­ Barney hesitated, business fear and jealousy suddenly seizing him—­ “unless the way you acted tonight means you don’t intend to go through with it?”

“Why shouldn’t I go through with it?”

“No reason.  Unless you acted as you did to-night because”—­again Barney hesitated; again jealousy prompted him on—­“because you’ve heard in some way from Larry Brainard.  Have you heard from Larry?”

Maggie met his gaze without flinching.  She would take the necessary measures in the morning with Miss Grierson to keep that lady from indiscreet talking.

“I have not heard from Larry, and if I had, it wouldn’t be any of your business, Barney Palmer!”

He chose to ignore the verbal slap in his face of her last phrase.  “No, I guess you haven’t heard from Larry.  And I guess none of us will hear from him—­not for a long time.  He’s certainly fixed himself for fair!”

“He sure has,” agreed Old Jimmie.

Maggie said nothing.

“Seems to me we’ve got this young Sherwood hooked,” said Old Jimmie, who had been impatient during this unprofitable bickering.  “Seems to me it’s time to settle just how we’re going to get his dough.  How about it, Barney?”

“Plenty of time for that, Jimmie.  This is a big fish, and we’ve got to be absolutely sure we’ve got him hooked so he can’t get off.  We’ve got to play safe here; it’s worth waiting for, believe me.  Besides, all the while Maggie’s getting practice.”

“Seems to me we ought to make our clean-up quick.  So that—­so that—­”

“See here—­you think you got some other swell game you want to use Maggie in?”

Old Jimmie’s shifty gaze wavered before Barney’s glare.

“No.  But she’s my daughter, ain’t she?”

“Yes.  But who’s running this?” Barney demanded.  Thank Heavens, Old Jimmie was one person he did not have to treat like a prima donna!

“You are.”

“Then shut up, and let me run it!”

“You might at least tell if you’ve decided how you’re going to run it,” persisted Old Jimmie.

“Will you shut up!” snapped Barney.

Old Jimmie said no more.  And having asserted his supremacy over at least one of the two, Barney relented and condescended to talk, lounging back in his chair with that self-conscious grace which had helped make him a figure of increasing note in the gayer restaurants of New York.