his throat like a pig at Dromeen Fair.

'"Thank ye, Brother Inner Guard," sez Crook, cool as a cucumber widout
salt. "I wanted that room." An' he wint forward by the thickness av a
man's body, havin' turned the Paythan undher him. The man bit the heel
off Crook's boot in his death-bite.

'"Push, men!" sez Crook. "Push, ye paper-backed beggars!" he sez. "Am
I to pull ye through?" So we pushed, an' we kicked, an' we swung, an'
we swore, an' the grass bein' slippery our heels wouldn't bite, an'
God help the front-rank man that wint down that day!'

''Ave you ever bin in the Pit hentrance o' the Vic. on a thick night?'
interrupted Ortheris. 'It was worse nor that, for they was goin' one
way, an' we wouldn't 'ave it. Leastaways, I 'adn't much to say.'

'Faith, me son, ye said ut, thin. I kep' the little man betune my
knees as long as I cud, but he was pokin' roun' wid his bay'nit,
blindin' and stiffin' feroshus. The devil of a man is Orth'ris in a
ruction--aren't ye?' said Mulvaney.

'Don't make game!' said the Cockney. 'I knowed I wasn't no good then,
but I guv 'em compot from the lef' flank when we opened out. No!' he
said, bringing down his hand with a thump on the bedstead, 'a bay'nit
ain't no good to a little man--might as well 'ave a bloomin'
fishin'-rod! I 'ate a clawin', maulin' mess, but gimme a breech that's
wore out a bit, an' hamminition one year in store, to let the powder
kiss the bullet, an' put me somewheres where I ain't trod on by 'ulkin
swine like you, an' s'elp me Gawd, I could bowl you over five times
outer seven at height 'undred. Would yer try, you lumberin'
Hirishman?'

'No, ye wasp. I've seen ye do ut. I say there's nothin' better than
the bay'nit, wid a long reach, a double twist av ye can, an' a slow
recover.'

'Dom the bay'nit,' said Learoyd, who had been listening intently.
'Look a-here!' He picked up a rifle an inch below the foresight with
an underhanded action, and used it exactly as a man would use a
dagger.

'Sitha,' said he softly, 'thot's better than owt, for a mon can bash
t' faace wi' thot, an', if he divn't, he can breeak t' forearm o' t'
gaard. 'Tis not i' t' books, though. Gie me t' butt.'

'Each does ut his own way, like makin' love,' said Mulvaney quietly;
'the butt or the bay'nit or the bullet accordin' to the natur' av the
man. Well, as I was sayin', we shtuck there breathin' in each other's
faces an' swearin' powerful; Orth'ris cursin' the mother that bore him
bekaze