stray puppies—you have no conception of personal reserve—you turn your souls into moral vaudevilles.”
A flush of indignation swept over Madden. “That's no decent return for a friendly approach!” he declared hotly, “and I'd rather be a puppy than a hedgehog any day!”
Caradoc made no reply, but seemed to erase Madden from his mind and shifted slowly around to his staring and his thoughts.
This last bit of impudence fairly clanged on Madden's temper. He felt a desire to tell this coxcomb just what he thought of him. If Caradoc had remained facing the American, Madden might have done so, but it feels foolish to rail at a profile. Madden wheeled angrily, tramped across the bridge, then down the high side of the dock toward the ladder. From far below him came Hogan's voice, a concertina, and the sound of clacking feet. Apparently the Irishman had induced someone to dance a jig.
