From the outer office the slow ticking of a clock sounded with lulling effect, while the grassy yard beyond the window, shaded by the boughs of the cottonwoods, diffused peace and drowsiness.

The clerk closed his eyes.
"Just leave the deed and fee on the desk here," he murmured.
"And tip-toe out, too, I suppose." "If you feel like it," the young Mexican remarked, with a faint insolence in his voice, the insolence of a subordinate who believes himself protected by his place.
Bryant's hand shot swiftly out to the speaker's shoulder.

With a snap that brought him up standing the clerk was jerked from his seat, and before his startled wits gathered what was happening he was propelled into the outer office.
"Record this deed, you forty-dollar-a-month penpusher, before I grow peevish and rearrange your face," Bryant ordered, with his fingers tightening their grasp on the youth's collar.

"You're receiving your pay from the county, and are presumed to give value received.

Anyway, value received is what I'm going to have now." "Let go my neck!" "Let go nothing.