The Octopus. Frank Norris
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yes, in my bed, sloop, aha! I know the man who put it there,” he went on, glaring at Osterman, “and that man is a PIP. Sloop! Slimy, disgusting stuff; you heard me say I didn't like it when the Chink passed it to me at dinner—and just for that reason you put it in my bed, and I stick my feet into it when I turn in. Funny, isn't it? Oh, yes, too funny for any use. I'd laugh a little louder if I was you.”
“Well, Buck,” protested Harran, as he noticed the hat in Annixter's hand, “you're not going home just for——”
Annixter turned on him with a shout.
“I'll get plumb out of here,” he trumpeted. “I won't stay here another minute.”
He swung into his waistcoat and coat, scrabbling at the buttons in the violence of his emotions. “And I don't know but what it will make me sick again to go out in a night like this. NO, I won't stay. Some things are funny, and then, again, there are some things that are not. Ah, yes, sloop! Well, that's all right. I can be funny, too, when you come to that. You don't get a cent of money out of me. You can do your dirty bribery in your own dirty way. I won't come into this scheme at all. I wash my hands of the whole business. It's rotten and it's wild-eyed; it's dirt from start to finish; and you'll all land in State's prison. You can count me out.”
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