The naive
appeal in her soft eyes had its weight with the poet. What is the use
of living in Bohemia if one cannot be free to follow impulse? He
slipped an arm about the girl and kissed the crimson lips upturned to
him.
Kitty started back with a little cry of distress.
The freedom taken by the near-poet was instantly avenged.
A Cosmic Urge beat in the veins of the savage from Arizona. He took
the poet's advice and followed his Lawless Impulse where it led.
Across the table a long arm reached. Sinewy fingers closed upon the
flowing neckwear of the fat-faced orator and dragged him forward,
leaving overturned glasses in the wake of his course.
The man in velveteens met the eyes of the energetic manhandler and
quailed. This brown-faced barbarian looked very much like business.
"Don't you touch me! Don't you dare touch me!" the apostle of anarchy
shrilled as the table crashed down. "I'll turn you over to the police!"
Clay jerked him to his feet. Hard knuckles pressed cruelly into the
soft throat of the Villager. "Git down on yore ham bones and beg the
lady's pardon, Son of the Stars, or I'll sure make you see a whole
colony of yore ancestors. Tell her you're a yellow pup, but you don't
reckon you'll ever pull a bone like that again. Speak right out in
meetin' _pronto_ before you bump into the tears and woe you was makin'
heap much oration about."
The proprietor of the cafe seized the cowpuncher by the arm hurriedly.
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