"Your own tongue ain't workin' none too smooth," he retorted. "Throw me out, hey? About all you'll throw will be a D. T. fit. A hunk of mice bait, that's about what you are, color and all."
With an oath Blake leaped from his chair, sending it crashing behind him. Perfectly game, little Dorgan crouched to meet the rush, in an attitude which showed a certain experience.
But Angus, cursing the luck which seemed to lead him athwart Blake, stepped between them.
"Hold on, now," he said. "You mustn't——"
"Get out of my way!" Blake roared.
"Now wait!" Angus insisted pacifically. "It wouldn't——"
But Blake struck at him. Angus dodged and clinched. But as he began to shove Blake back Gavin's great arms were thrust between them.
"Let go, Mackay," he said. "Quit it!" he commanded Blake.
"I'll show that runt he can't insult me!" the latter frothed. "Yes, and Mackay, too. Turn me loose, Gan——"
"You can't beat up their jockey before the race," his brother told him. "Too raw. Mackay? Mackay'd make a mess of you. Quit it, I tell you."