"What's he mean?" Anita bent close to Fairchild.
"I don't know—I don't think Taylor Bill can talk anything else. Put your finger on this knot while I tighten it. Thanks."
Again the command had come from farther on:
"Talk English! 'Ear me—I'll knock the bloody 'ell out of you if you don't. Talk English—like this: 'Throw up your 'ands!' 'Ear me?"
Anita swerved swiftly and went to her feet. Harry looked up at her wildly, his mustache bristling like the spines of a porcupine.
"Did you 'ear 'im sye it?" he asked. "No? Sye it again!"
"Throw up your 'ands!" came the answer of the beaten man on the ground. Anita ran forward.
"It's a good deal like it," she answered. "But the tone was higher."
"Raise your tone!" commanded Harry, while Fairchild, finishing his job of tying his defeated opponent, rose, staring in wonderment. Then the answer came:
"That's it—that's it. It sounded just like it!"