“Go on!” snorted Ephraim, in disgust. “Ye make me sick! Whut sort of a fool noshun hev yeou got inter your fat head? Do you think yeou could cut Frank Merriwell aout with any girl?”
“Say, you peen careful how you talks to me!” said Hans, menacingly. “Uf you don’d, I may be sorry for it! I know vot I can do mit der girls.”
“Thot’s roight, Ephraim,” put in Barney, with a sly wink at the Yankee boy; “he knows phwat he can do. Av he says he can cut Frankie out it’s himsilf thot can do th’ same.”
“Yaw; sometimes I done id shust to shown you.”
Ephraim took his cue, having tumbled when Barney winked.
“Wal, darn my punkins!” he growled. “Yeou make me sick! Mebbe yeou really do think yeou could cut Frank aout?”
“Uf I vant to tried him.”
“Wall, I’ll bet a ’hole barril of yaller-eye beans that yeou can’t do northin’ of the kind, b’gosh! Yeou take me up, if you darst!”
“Betther be careful, Ephraim,” said Barney, in a manner of mock warning. “Ye won’t have inny b’anes to ate nixt winther. Ye see Frankie is payin’ all his attintion to Miss Abigail noo, an’ it’s ounly himself as could do innything wid th’ loikes av her—onliss it is Hans.”
“I’ll stan’ to my bet,” said Gallup. “Hans never could do a dinged thing with Miss Abigail.”