some time
Tony he'sa got mad! When Tony he'sa got mad--" He stops and makes a
terrible face at me and the Kid, "--when Tony he'sa got mad, something
she'sa gotta fall!--dat'sa all!"

"Well, you been doin' all the fallin' so far," I says, "and--"

"Ah--I say!" butts in Van Ness--and Tony sees him for the first time, I
guess, because he shivered and got pale. "I say," he goes on, takin' a
slant at Tony through the trick eyeglass, "just what does this mean,
Antonio? Why are you walking about with this extraordinary collection
of weapons on your person?" He points his finger at the munitions on
the ground, and Tony's eyes follows his. At the same time he makes a
little clickin' noise in his throat and jumps for the pile.

"Where is she the gooda carbolic acid?" he snarls. "And whosa taka my
eleven incha stiletto?"

"How dare you ignore my question!" thunders Van Ness. "What are you
doing with all those weapons? Answer me!"

"'Scuse a me!" says Tony, makin' a bow and takin' off his hat. "I
getta them for my brudda!"

"Where's your brother?" asks the Kid. "In Russia?"

"'Sno use _you_ talka to me!" growls Tony, "I no talka back. Sometime
Tony he'sa getta mad and then--"

"Come, come!" interrupts Van Ness, kinda sharp. "The weapons--what of
them?"

"'Scuse a me!" bows Tony with another smile. "My brudda he'sa live in
Santa Francisco. He'sa fina fel'--my brudda. He'sa name Joe. He'sa
come this countree five years ago, no fren's, no spika da Engleesh, no
nothing! They putta heem in the basement of the sheepa wit' coupla
thousand other fel' from seventy-six other countree. One fel' say my
Joe he'sa no be able to leava the sheepa at--at--what you call? I
don't know--I teenk maybe Chicago, Pennsylvania, Coney Island--I don't
know joosta now! Anyhow thisa fel' say Joe he'sa no be able to leava
the sheepa wherever he'sa wanna go--eef he'sa got no money, you 'stanna
me? Joe he'sa tank dis kinda fel', say coupla nica prayer for heem and
then everybody she'sa a maka sleepa. Joe he'sa get up and taka four
hundred dollar from thisa nica fel'--whosa sleepa lika he'sa dead--so
Joe he'sa be able to leeva the sheepa! He'sa a smarta fel', eh?
That'sa Joe. He'sa my brudda!"

"Oh, Lady!" says the Kid. "What was you takin' him the ammunition for?"

"Don't spika to me!" snorts Tony. "I no answera you! I tella Meester
Van Ness. He'sa my boss. He'sa fina fel', too--joosta lika my brudda!"

"How dare you!"