Corcoran came to his feet at sight of him. “What ’s the matter?”
Babbing jerked off his spectacles. “What has happened?”
“I go-got it,” Barney stammered, tugging at the book that stuck in his pocket.
“Got what?”
“His— his book.”
“What!” Corcoran grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and snatched the volume from his hand. He glanced at its brown cloth cover. “What?” he cried. And that second “What” expressed the extreme of incredulous disgust. He held out the book to Babbing who had not moved from his seat at the table. “He ’s swiped the man’s dictionary!”
Babbing looked at it. It was a “pocket Webster,” a cheap abridged edition, on cheap paper. “Where did you get this?” he asked; and there was no kindly personality showing in the cold malevolence of his flat eyes.
“On his desk. I—”
“Why did you bring it?”
