“An’ how?” demanded Gallagher.
“Oi can lick the shtuffin’ out of anny man that can’t lick the shtuffin’ out o’ me.”
“An’ is it me ye mane?” asked Gallagher, almost choking.
“It is.”
“It is foight ye mane?”
“It is.”
“Av ye’ll shtep outside,” said Gallagher, “Oi’ll shtand ye on yer head, an’ dhrive yer body so far down in the mud they’ll be usin’ ye for an artooshun well.”
“Ye may, thin,” said Hennessy, and two minutes later they were out on the levee, with their coats off, locked in a grip that seemed unbreakable.
“What did Oi say till ye the marnin’,” said Stumpy, as he and Sam stood watching the proceedings in keenest delight, together with nearly the entire male population of Brownsville. “There do be things happens here sometimes.”
The excitement was so great, in fact, that for the moment no one noticed a bareheaded woman that came running up the street, almost breathless, but shouting as loudly as she could. When her voice reached the crowd, they perceived that it was the voice of Mrs. Hennessy, and there was an imperative tone in it that arrested even the attention of the two who were fighting.