Chesty, at the door, snorted in derision. "D—n fool!" he informed those behind him. "He 's tryin' to climb th' table. Hey, Ned; let th' other dog loose," he suggested, hopefully.
By the time the highly entertained group had gathered about the dining-room door, the oaths and imprecations had resolved themselves into a steady railing. Bow-Wow sat sprawled in a chair, gazing in awed silence along the path of wreckage wrought by the flying bell; opposite him, waving a pair of pugnacious fists in close proximity to Bow-Wow's face, stood Sandy McQueen, proprietor of the Sweet-Echo. It appeared that he was angry and the spectators waited with absorbed expectancy on what would happen next.
"Ye gilravagin' deevil!" he shouted, "canna ye see an inch afore yer ain nase? Gin ye hae nae better manners na a gyte bull, gang oot to grass like thae ither cattle. Lord preserv's," he prayed, following the strained intensity of Bow-Wow's gaze, "look at the cheeny! A 'm ruined!" He started to gather up the broken crockery when the roar of laughter, no longer to be restrained, assailed his outraged ears. He looked sourly at his guests. "Ou, ay, ye maun lauch, but wha's to pay for the cheeny? Ou, ay! A ken weel eneuch!"
The hilarious company pushed into the dining-room and began to help him in his task, casting many jocose reproaches on the overburdened Bow-Wow. Slick returned to the bar-room to clean off the bar before eating, and Buck went after him. "Hey, what have I struck?" he asked, with much curiosity. "He sounds worse 'n a circus."
"He 's mad," explained Slick. "Nobody on God's green earth can understand him when he 's mad. Which a circus is music alongside o' him. When he 's ca'm, he talks purty good American."
"You shore relieves my mind. What is he—Roosian?"
"Claims to be Scotch. But I dunno—a Scotchman 's a sort of Englishman, ain't he?"
"That was allus my opinion," agreed Buck.
"Well—I dunno," and Slick shook his head doubtfully as he hung the towel onto a handy hook and stooped to come under the bar. "Sounds funny to me, all right. 'Tain't English; not by a h—l of a sight."
"Sounds funny to me," echoed Buck. "I 'm shore it ain't English. But, say, Slick; gimme a room. I 'm stoppin' here an' I 'd like to drop my things where I can find 'em."