Look out, I'm going to throw lead." A second shot put out the lamp over the musicians' stand.

The assembled guests shrieked, a frantic, shrinking quiver ran through the crowd like the huddling of frightened rabbits in their pen.
Annixter hardly moved.

He stood some thirty paces from the buster, his hands still in his coat pockets, his eyes glistening, watchful.
Excitable and turbulent in trifling matters, when actual bodily danger threatened he was of an abnormal quiet.
"I'm watching you," cried the other.

"Don't make any mistake about that.
Keep your hands in your COAT pockets, if you'd like to live a little longer, understand?
And don't let me see you make a move toward your hip or your friends will be asked to identify you at the morgue to-morrow morning.

When I'm bad, I'm called the Undertaker's Friend, so I am, and I'm that bad to-night that I'm scared of myself.