“When yo’ gwine teh ordah another round, gemmans?” he asked. “I’ll drink de chasers. Yah! yah! yah!”
Some one threw a wooden dumb-bell at Tom, and it struck him on the head, bounding off.
“G’way dar!” cried the colored man indignantly. “Stop frowin’ dem peanut shells dis way!”
Hodge aroused himself and tied on Frank’s gloves. As he did so, he found an opportunity to whisper:
“They all think we’re both loaded, Merry. This big bruiser thinks so, too. When you undeceive him you want to do it by wading into him and finishing the scrap.”
“Come on!” cried Galway. “It takes you a long time ter git inter gear.”
“Don’t be impatient, my friend,” said Merry, floppily waving one of the gloves at the bruiser. “We’ve got all the—hic!—all the afternoon.”
“Dat’ll give yer a long time ter sleep,” said Husker.
“Gentlemen,” called the student who had appointed himself as referee, “in the main bout to-day we have the great Husker Galway, heavyweight champion of the Pimlico Road.”