"Save your breath," the Kid cuts him off. "I am perfectly content as I am!"
"Content!" gasps Augustus, throwin' up his hands and rollin' his eyes to the ceilin'. "Gad, man—are you insane? Kane Halliday a prize fighter! Think if this should become public property—why, damn it, man, you've got to stop this degrading thing! You owe it to your friends, your college, your—"
"Stop!" roars the Kid, his face whiter than the color itself. "How dare you come here and patronize me, you hound! Your father and his gang of legalized cut-throats stripped me and mine to the bone—picked us up, broke us in bits, and threw us away. Took advantage of friendship, trust, and what none but criminals would call opportunity to ruin us, and you dare to offer me an underling's job where I probably would be getting my weekly pittance from the money you wrung from my own father! I owe nothing to my friends—I have no friends—they scurried away like the rats they were from the sinking ship of my father's fortunes. As to my college, it should be proud of me. At least, it didn't turn out a quitter! I took my medicine and I'm making good now on my own. It'll be a long climb back, but I'll get there, Carrowsmith, and when I get there I'll get you. Now go, or I'll further shock your damned hypocritical dignity by throwing you out of my room!"
Augustus gasped, give a shiver, and tried to make a dignified exit. He failed.
The Kid takes out a handkerchief and wipes his hands carefully, though he hadr't touched this bird
